


Last Christmas

by Seldarius



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-02-29 12:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: A Christmas party gone wrong? Or is there another sane explanation for Jack to wake up in Phryne's bed? How about an insane one? - A writing experiment





	1. Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written sometime in 2014 this story was never before posted. You'll see why.

“Goodnight,” Inspector Robinson said, unwilling to leave. But it was late. Way too late. It was inappropriate that he should stay at a lady's house until the early hours of the morning, especially with this much alcohol in his blood. And he was sure that this were the exact thoughts on Mrs. Stanley's disapproving mind when she had left as the last guest, save him, half an hour ago. But it was Christmas after all - or at least Christmas in July.

Miss Fisher currently looked like a present, with her golden dress hugging every curve, begging to be unpacked. Jack had to clench and unclench his fists to not succumb to temptations invading his mind. Then he realised that he was still standing at her doorstep with Phryne watching him, a knowing smile on her red lips.

“Goodnight, Miss Fisher” he said again, willing himself to turn away, when he noticed her glance slip upwards. His eyes followed.

“It appears someone hung a mistletoe right over our heads, Jack,” Phryne pointed out and he might have imagined her sounding slightly out of breath.

“How fortunate that your kisses cannot be provoked by sprigs of parasitic plants, Miss Fisher,” he quipped, noticing in his whisky-muddled brain, that somehow she seemed to have come closer without moving. He swallowed hard.

“I am told mistletoe _aren't_ parasitic plants,” she pointed out, looking up at him with dark eyes.

“Hemiparasitic, Miss Fisher,” Jack breathed. Her perfume mixed with the scent of her warm skin, invading his nostrils. It was late. Way too late.

Her face came closer and he forgot to breath. Even if he had wanted to, there was no escape. When their lips touched, Jack thought his knees would buckle underneath him. A warm hand snuck onto his back, keeping him upright, pulling him in while he tried to hold on to sanity in the world behind his closed lashes. It was no use. He was lost.

Phryne tasted more intoxicating than he could have ever imagined, her lips so soft that he temporarily forgot about the red colouring which would mark him in the most telling of shades. Jack's head was swimming, small trails of lightning sparkling along his nerve endings as his arms wrapped around her. He felt like he was going to drown in her if he didn't stop. Yet he didn't have the strength to pull away.

The waves closed over him when she deepened the kiss, their tongues now wrestling in a messy knot of warm wetness, her body pressed against his.

Jack knew he was panting into her mouth. If anyone should discover them, there was no talking this away. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her warmth, which bled through the many layers separating them. He felt her hand wander lower, leaving a smouldering trail on his back, settling on his hip. When she pulled him against herself, there was a small explosion in his stomach that made him fear he would lose it right here. Dear God!

His own groan woke him. Jack tried to slow his breathing without opening his eyes. Just another dream. His body didn't seem to care; it was aching with unresolved longing. The Inspector lay for a minute or two in silence, calming himself. When his rushing hormones had somewhat subsided, he had time to sort through the rest of his limbs, mostly his raging headache. If it was caused by the concussion a hit to the skull had left, or a few drinks too many at Miss Fisher's Christmas in July party, he would never know.

The Inspector groaned again, this time for very different reasons and rubbed his throbbing temples when he realised that something was off. It might have been the mattress, the sheets, but mostly it was the scent hanging in the air. _Her_ scent! For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming, then he pried his eyes open and turned his aching head towards the soft breathing. The air hitched in his throat. Only centimeters away from him lay Phryne Fisher, still fast asleep. Her face was peaceful, her black locks messy, the thin strap of her nightdress fallen from her white, freckly shoulder. Jack fought down the temptation to pull it back into place. His thoughts were racing. What on earth had happened? Was there a sane explanation? As much as he racked his aching brain, it wouldn't come up with an answer. Just then he noticed the first movement in Phryne's lashes. They fluttered gently. Jack wanted to flee, but his body wouldn't move. The world seemed to slow down when a sleepy Phryne arrived in the land of the living and only briefly it occurred to Inspector Robinson how often he had wished for this moment. The moment when she woke from her sweet dreams to look at him. In his imagination, her blue eyes had, however, never widened in shock.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was planned as the hook for a writing exercise with several separate endings (which I did not write in 2014). However, it's never too late to start. If there's anything you'd like me to write, or have an idea how Jack ended up in Phryne's bed (other than the obvious) and how the morning will proceed, please post them below and I might actually finish this thing after five years.


	2. Ending 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending was requested by the lovely TandBanjo. Enjoy!

„Jack?” she whispered, grimacing as if in pain. He dared nod his head slightly and was rewarded with a sharp stab of pain himself. Phryne groaned, rolling onto her back and rubbing the bridge of her nose, coming to terms with this new information. Jack waited with bated breath for her verdict. 

“I recall going to bed last night after an immoral amount of alcohol,” she finally stated conversationally. “And in disappointing solitude.” 

J ack hummed something that could’ve been agreement, but was forced to advert his eyes as she sat up in bed, revealing her torso in just a thin nightdress that showed more than it hid. 

“So, how did you end up in my bed, Jack?”

“I’m afraid I have not the slightest idea, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, stubbornly staring at the ceiling. His eyes were burning, his head felt as if stuffed with cotton wool. “But considering my state of dress, I suspect it wasn’t voluntarily.” 

He pushed the sheets off his chest to reveal a crumpled wool suit.  Phryne grinned, stretching out her fingers to smooth out a crease. 

“That was very inconsiderate of the person transferring you into my bed,” she said quietly.

Jack’s breath grew ragged underneath her touch, as her fingers trailed higher, brushed his tie.

H e cleared his throat. 

“Miss Fisher!”

He escaped her grasp, pulling himself onto the edge of the bed. His head  throbbed in protest  and he stopped to rub his sore temples, a quiet groan slipping over his lips. 

“It seems a little late for diffidence, now that we’ve spent the night together, Jack,” Phryne teased, but thankfully ceased any attempts at touching him for the moment. For a while the Inspector was left to sort through his sore limbs and fuzzy memories while she pottered around the room, hopefully dressing herself. 

He recalled having come to her house  early in the evening with some evidence in tow to  go  through their current case. She’d opened herself as it was Mr Butler’s day off, which also explained why there had been no food offered with the generous  measures of brandy she had poured him.  The Inspector didn’t often drink brandy, it rendered him easily woozy, but he had humoured her since it had been a very good drop indeed. 

Sometime between the third and fourth he had stopped being able to  pass over the rather lethal dress she was wearing, a glass or two later the way she looked at him  had also become impossible to ignore . There had been a moment, brief, but burned into his  fuzzy  memory, where they had been incredibly close, her breath already brushing over his face.  T hey had jumped apart at the appearance of Jane, who  desired  a book from Miss Fisher’s shelf. 

It was around then that he had  resolved  to leave before he did something silly.  B y the time he’d  actually  followed his own advice he  ha d felt very, very drunk, but nevertheless he did with clarity recall saying goodnight, lingering on her doorstep for several minutes, drawing out the inevitable… and then? There was only darkness. 

“Here,” Phryne said from the edge of his vision, a glass materializing in front of him. “It might help with the memory.” 

Jack glanced up at her. She wore a black dressing gown now, looking composed and  in control as if it was the most normal thing in the world to find a strange man in her bed.  Which, of course, it was. Jack had thought it before he could stop himself.  He certainly wished he’d  at least  have some memories to show for his efforts,  he  added bitterly. 

“I’m promise I’m not going to poison you,” she prompted, misunderstanding his pause. With shaky fingers Jack accepted the glass, took a hesitant sip. The bitterness of a headache powder slipped over his tongue, but the cool water soothed his dry throat and he drank greedily. When he’d finished she was still standing beside him, her hand extended to relieve him from the glass. 

“Better?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Thank you.”

She simpered, but said nothing.  Jack stood, testing his wobbly legs. Thankfully they held, though his stomach didn’t appreciate the sudden change of altitude. 

“Shall we...” she tilted her head, watching him carefully as his coloring returned from a subtle shade of green, “...investigate into this mystery?” 

Jack swallowed  down the wish to  relieve his stomach contents and offered his arm. 

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Fisher.” 

When they arrived in the hall downstairs, faint laughter carried over from the kitchen and Jack had to battle his urge to flee the scene of his misdemenour. But Phryne had already swept past him into the parlour, suspiciously inspecting the armchairs where they had been seated in the past night.

“I don’t believe we will find much here,” Jack sighed, running a hand over his throbbing forehead and through his dishevelled hair. 

“I’m afraid Mr Butler is a thorough man,” Phryne smiled, shrugging apologetically. 

Indeed the room showed no traces of last night, safe the small pile of evidence still sitting, neatly stacked, on her desk. Jack couldn’t remember having even attempted to take  it with him as he’d left,  which didn’t speak for his state of sobriety. Something occurred to him.

“Was I intending to drive, Miss Fisher?” he enquired, watching her wander across the room as if looking for something. 

“Of course not, Jack. I telephoned for a cab to take you home. You were rather high-spirited.” 

The Inspector groaned in embarrassment and sank into a chair. It had dawned on him, sometime in the last half hour, that there was the distinct possibility that in his inebriation, he’d returned to the house and due to a, not particularly unconscious, urge had stumbled into Phryne’s bed. 

“I can only say I’m deeply sorry, Miss Fisher. Whatever happened last night, I cannot remember it.” 

“Don’t be silly, Jack,” she said lightly, absent-mindedly flicking through his evidence. The Inspector stared at his creased trouser legs, wanting to sink into the ground.

“Tell me, how many of those sleeping powders used on Mrs Tanner did you bring over?” she asked suddenly. Jack frowned.

“There were three sleeves left in the box,” he explained, getting to his feet and stepping behind her. It was a mistake, the warm scent of her yet unwashed skin invaded his nostrils, chasing away his hangover and waking in him the irresistible wish to take her back to the bedroom. She turned, almost colliding with him and Jack’s breath caught for a moment. 

“There’s only two,” she pointed out, smirking.

“That would explain the odd taste of that last glass of brandy,” Jack said, his voice rough. 

“And a whole lot more,” Phryne agreed, without tearing her eyes off him.

He cleared his throat, stepping backwards to give her room to escape.

“That solves part of the ‘how’, but not the ‘who’,” he stated, as she slipped into a chair, her morning gown briefly falling open to show her white thigh.

“Mr Butler didn’t return until late and surely you will not accuse _me_ of tempering with your drink. Which only leaves Dot or Jane as the culprit,” Phryne thought aloud. 

Jack sank into the chair opposite her and pondered this. Both women had been in and out of the parlour at multiple occasions during the evening.

“Neither of them have a motive,” he stated.

“But both ample opportunity.”

As Phryne  uttered the last  words, whistling drew closer. Behind Jack she watched Bert leaving the dining room in the best of spirits. 

“Bert?” she called out and he froze in his tracks, but caught himself quickly.

“Mornin’, Miss.”

“Would you care to join us?” she asked, her voice as sweet as honey. 

Bert  walked into the parlour and Jack sank deeper into his chair, willing himself to disappear. 

“Good Morning, Inspector!” the Cabbie said loudly and grinned. “Slept well last night?” 

“Tell me Bert,” Miss Fisher asked, her voice having gained a sharp edge, “when I telephoned you last night to take the Inspector home...” 

The cabbie suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“...what exactly happened?”

Bert nervously glanced at Jack, who glared at him in open hostility.

“Because somehow,” Phryne said conversationally, getting to her feet to pour two glasses of water, “he seems to have found his way into my bed. Uninvited.”

Jack swallowed at the last word, his ears burning.

“He was asleep in his car when we got here, wasn’t he,” Bert stumbled out. “Cold out, he was.” 

“So you thought you’d bring him back inside to sleep it off?” Phryne asked sweetly, handing Jack a glass which he emptied in one big gulp. “That was rather considerate of you.”

Bert perked up at this last sentence.

“Well, we’d thought it better and then Miss Jane, she also… I mean…” He trailed off. “We’d thought it’d be kinda funny, Miss,” he added quietly, blushing up to his hairline. 

“I see,” Miss Fisher said calmly.

“Sorry, Miss,” Bert hastily added and fled under her icy stare.

When he had disappeared, Phryne smiled at the Inspector over the edge of her glass.

“It appears we have fallen prey to a prank, Jack.”

She took a deep gulp of water, while he cleared his throat.

“Not a very funny one, Miss Fisher.”

“I believe that lies in the eyes of the beholder.” Her smile made room for a frown. “However, Jane’s loose approach to medicine is rather worrying.”

“Indeed. But I will leave this issue to your parental guidance, optimistic as that may be.”

Jack rose, wishing nothing more now than to flee home to have a wash and change before his absence was noted at the station. “If you’ll excuse me...” 

Phryne stood to walk him to the door.  As she handed him his hat, she couldn’t help but smooth out another crease on his  chest .  His eyes softened. 

“Good day, Jack. And maybe if you are free tonight...” 

He paused in the door.

“Yes, Miss Fisher?”

“Nothing, Jack.”

She  smiled innocently . But the look she gave him was enough for a furious blush to bloom  across his neck  as he rushed out into the bright day. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not your ending? Have another idea? Leave me a message below.


	3. Ending 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Ending was inspired by comments from Miss_Phryne_Alicia_Vane and FriendlyPhrack. (And admittedely 3x1 also snuck in there.) Have another idea? Leave it down in the comments.

Phryne blinked dumbfounded at Jack’s sleepy face, wanting to sink into the mattress. God knew what he was thinking, but h is face certainly reflected her own state of shock . With some difficulty she wrestled a smile onto her lips. 

“Good morning, Jack.”

“Good morning, Miss Fisher.”

His voice was warm and heavy and sent tingled down her spine. God, she wanted to touch him, run her hands over  his blue silk pyjama. But under the circumstances that would’ve been highly inappropriate. He was still looking at her, his grey eyes slowly growing more awake and more questioning. At some point she would have to explain what she was doing in her bed. 

The Christmas-in-July party had been a complete and utter success. So much so, that half of the guests had not found their way home at the end of the night. Jane, who had been strictly on lemonade and Dot, who’d returned to lemonade after one glass of champagne, had both turned in early, which left Hugh with nothing much to do than head home. By half past eleven Mr B had offered Cec a guest room because he could barely keep his eyes open. Half an hour later, Bert had fallen onto the other side of the bed, his snoring droning down the corridor. Aunt P had taken this as her cue to call her driver, proffering to drop off Mac, who, however, had denied her kind offer in favour of emptying another two generous tumblers of whisky with the detectives. Being a doctor she had, of course, known that she was way beyond the limit where she should be wandering the streets in the middle of the night and so she had taken the second bedroom at quarter to one. Which left only Phryne and her Inspector and air so thick with desire it could’ve been cut with a very hot knife. And, of course, poor Mr B, who his mistress had sent to bed at exactly 1.05, knowing that he would be up with the birds, no matter if he was required to or not. 

Jack cleared his throat into her thoughts.

“I… should probably rise,” he explained, rolling onto his back. “I’m expected at the station.” 

He winced as he sat, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Phryne wasn’t sure if to be upset or amused at  his awkwardness . She chose the latter. 

“How’s the head?” she asked, swinging her own legs out the other side of the bed. He groaned in answer. On light feet she crossed the room, purposefully bent slowly over the drawer where she knew to find a stash of headache powders. His eyes were still glued to her when she turned and he withdrew them hurriedly. 

She took her time in pouring two glasses of water and stirring in the powders.  Jack was still hiding under his blanket as if he was scared she might ravish him as soon as she caught sight of his silk clad body – which admittedly was a thought that had occurred to her. But Miss Fisher was by nature rather fond of willingness in her partners, and so she resisted any urge to touch him as she slipped back down beside him and handed him his drink. He accepted with a faint word of gratitude and greedily poured the glass down his throat. 

“How did you find my bed then, Jack?” she asked, grinning to herself when he coughed and spluttered in reply.

“Very well,” he ground out once he could speak again. A knock at the door cut her teasing short.

“Inspector?”

“Come,” Jack called, his eyes making clear what he thought of her teasing. Phryne grinned. Mr Butler entered with the Inspector’s propriety uniform on a hanger. If he was surprised as his mistress’ presence, he didn’t show it. 

“I’ve pressed your suit, sir?”

“Thank you.”

“Was there anything else, sir?”

“I’m well taken care of, thank you, Mr Butler.”

The servant disappeared discreetly. For a while the detectives sat in harmonious silence, sipping their powders and wondering who would address the elephant in the room first. Phryne was rather keenly aware that she should ease his worries, all things considered.

“I apologize, Miss Fisher, but when you offered your bed last night, I was of the understanding that you were going to share sleeping quarters with Dr MacMillan,” Jack finally tried bravely.

“What can I say, Jack?” Phryne smiled as she finally left the bed and his tempting proximity. She picked her black morning gown from a chair and wrapped it around herself. “While I enjoyed Mac’s company, my rather fuzzy mind apparently found the way to my own bedroom more easily after I’d followed a call of nature.” 

“I see,” the Inspector said slowly, the cogs in his brain working, allowing him to forget for a moment his vulnerable position under her quilt. “An honest mistake then?” 

“So it seems, Jack.” She simpered. That wasn’t quite the truth, but he didn’t need to know that.

In fact she _had_ noted her misstep as soon as her head had hit the pillow, but his warmth had enthralled her for a few blissful moments too long. Phryne had fully intended to rise again and return to Mac, who had been happily attempting to squeeze her off the mattress for the last three hours. But she’d stayed, watched the first morning light creep through the windows and light up his peaceful face, listened to his calm breathing until she’d slipped back to sleep. 

She looked at him now, his face  again  creased with daily worries. Maybe he thought of how inappropriate it was that he should wake with her. Or what his officers  might think of him running late for his shift. Who knew what was going on behind those grey eyes? 

He looked up at her that very moment and there was a sparkle she hadn’t expected,  a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“In that case I hope I wasn’t an unpleasant bed partner.” 

“Not all all, Jack.” She headed for the door, sensing his wish for privacy while he got dressed. As she opened it, she added: “Though I imagine not quite as pleasant as you could be.”

The door closed with a soft click and Miss Fisher smiled to herself, before she shook her hair back into shape and headed down the stairs to enquire after breakfast. 


	4. Ending 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another ending - this one I wanted to write. But don't worry, I'll get to your thoughts. If you have any more idea, no matter how outrageous, leave them down in the comments.

Ending 3:

 

Phryne groaned, rubbing the back of her head, then pulled herself up onto her elbow and glanced across the dark, heavy furniture dipped into grey morning light.

“Where are we, Jack?”

The Inspector, now sitting himself, rubbed his throbbing skull, where a generous bump had developed over night.

“I have not the slightest idea.”

The last thing he remembered was rushing out of his bedroom in the middle of the night, after a strange noise had woken him, bumping into Miss Fisher in the hallway on a similar mission. He swung his bare feet over the edge of the bed, winter air crawling up his pyjama legs. He flinched when he touched the icy floor, but nevertheless he stood, sensing Miss Fisher step behind him as he reached the door. Her proximity managed to distract him briefly from the strange situation, but her spell wasn’t strong enough to keep him from noticing that the very solid looking oak door wasn’t budging.

“We’re locked in,” he stated calmly.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Phryne quipped, searching her thin nightdress for anything of use. Goosebumps were beginning to cover her arms. “I trust you didn’t happen to bring a picklock?” she asked when she found nothing.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think that far when I stumbled out of bed last night, Miss Fisher.”

Jack was inspecting the door, but he had very little hope that lock or wood would give way to raw force. Phryne meanwhile rolled her eyes at his sarcastic tone, sweeping her eyes over the small room. There was no absence of clutter, but neither the hairbrush on the dresser nor the books on the window sill seemed much use. She threw open the door to the huge oak cabinet to find a large amount of dusty clothing, rummaged uselessly through thick winter coats for a moment. At least they wouldn’t freeze. But possibly suffocate. Coughing she turned to the inspector, who was standing at the now open window. His scent invaded her nostrils as she leaned over his shoulder and she barely resisted the urge to lean into him. His warmth seemed very, very tempting right now. In front of them stretched a steep drop down to the roof of the chateau.

“I think this might be a challenge even for your climbing skills, Miss Fisher” the inspector said after a long moment.

“Until I sprout wings I won’t attempt it,” she grumbled, sitting on the bed. Jack locked out the freezing winter air before turning.

“You wouldn’t happen to…” he gestured vagely at the lower part of her body, then cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Your knife?” he asked. Phryne shook her head.

“I don’t sleep with it,” she explained. “It’s rather uncomfortable.”

“I see,” he said, locking his arms over his chest. For a while silence fell as they mused over their situation.

“It appears we are trapped here,” Phryne said after a long moment. “And you look cold, Jack. Why don’t you come back to bed while we regroup?”

He looked at her in unconcealed shock.

“That would be hardly appropriate.”

“Propriety won’t keep you from freezing,” Phryne said, turning to peel up the heavy day cover they had slept on. He considered this. She made sense. It was the middle of winter and they might be stuck here without a fire for hours, if not days, until their family would miss them. If the killer didn’t get to them first. At the thought a cold shiver ran down the Inspector’s spine. Phryne was still looking at him, her head tilted.

Stiffly he wandered around the bed, sitting down on the opposite edge without looked at her. He could feel her eyes in his back, his dream returning in vivid colours. He swallowed.

“Jack?” she said, her warm hand touching his back. He didn’t shrink away, nor answer. His naked feet were frozen. He cleared his throat and with one swift movement, slipped underneath the covers. They were a little stiff and still cool, but thankfully thick. His feet brushed against something warm and he retracted them quickly to his side, his breath catching. When he finally raised his eyes to Miss Fisher, now resting against the bed of the head a pillow in her back, she was simpering. She looked exactly as she did in his dreams.

He shook off the disturbing thought, settling beside her and pulling the covers up to his chin. The cool headboard felt rather pleasant against his sore skull.

“How far do you remember last night?” Phryne asked. The Inspector thought about that, fighting down remnants of his imagination. The Christmas party had felt so real. Yet here they were, still stuck in the snow covered chateau with a murderer on the loose. He thought of Jane and Mac, Collins and Miss Williams… even Mrs. Stanley. What if something happened to them while they were locked here like rats in a cage?

“I was woken by a noise that sounded like splintering glass,” he slowly explained. They’d met in the hallway, chased the strange sounds up the stairs. And then… a sharp pain to his skull and that was the end of it. Phryne rubbed the back of her head and winced.

“You went rather quiet behind me. When I went to see what happened, my skull met with something heavy,” she explained. “I would assume in the hands of the murderer.”

Jack groaned loudly and she turned to look at him.

“I was holding my pistol when I got knocked out,” he said. “Which means whoever was pleasant enough to lock us in here, now has my weapon and free reign out there.”

“At least he chose to not murder us straight away,” Phryne pointed out calmly. “Which was rather nice of him.”

Jack jumped from the bed, pacing the room, ignoring both her and his freezing limbs.

“We need to get out of here,” he explained hotly. “There must be some way to break through this door.”

Miss Fisher said nothing, but he knew better than to snap at her. In fact, she had that absent-minded smile of an idea forming behind those blue eyes.

“I wonder…?” she jumped from the bed, giving him briefly a very clear sight of her naked thigh. He averted his eyes to look out the window, where angry clouds were forming again, readying themselves for another onslaught of snow.

“Out of curiosity, what are you looking for, Miss Fisher?” he asked as he turned to watch her sift through the clothing in the cabinet.

“This!” she said, triumphantly, peeling free a grey coat that looked just like the rest of the lot. Jack immediately realised what she was referring too. Over it was slung a peacock coloured scarf, pinned together by a large gold brooch.

“This was my mothers,” she explained. “She adored the scarf and the pin, I believe a present from her own mother. Aunt Prudence must have kept it.”

“And you just happened to recognise this garment after 30 years, flicking through a cabinet?” the Inspector asked, fondness colouring his voice. Whenever Phryne told him something about her early life, he couldn’t help but be touched.

“What can I say, inspector? I’ve always had an eye for fashion.” She grinned, while freeing the piece of jewellery from it’s resting place. “I may have also stolen the pin at one point,” she added, grinning, “as it turns out it is entirely worthless.”

“Which explains why it is sitting in an abandoned room in the attic rather than a jewellery box,” Jack finished her thought.

“To our benefit,” Miss Fisher said, triumphantly, at she slid the needle carefully into the heavy looking lock. Jack tilted his head in agreement, crouching down beside her.

“Please don’t bend the metal, it is our only way out of here,” he said into the concentrated silence.

“Thank you for the hint, Jack.”

Another few breathless moments, the metal gently clicked.

“Voila.” Phryne stood, pressing down the handle. Cool air flooded through the gap, cooling her excitement flushed cheeks. As she was about to slip through, Jack grasped her arm before realising that she was still largely undressed and now also standing very close. He gulped.

“Miss Fisher.”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking…” he licked he dry lips. “If we make it out of here unharmed, it might be fun to celebrate with a Christmas party.”

She frowned briefly.

“A Christmas party? In July?”

From her lips the idea seemed suddenly ridiculous. He retreated. The sparkle returned to Phryne’s eyes.

“That’s an outrageous idea, Jack.” She grinned. “I will make certain we do.”

And with that, she was through the door. Jack threw another look at the abandoned bed before following her into the cold winter morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not your ending? Have a better idea? Leave it in the comments.


	5. Ending 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after a quick interlude to write a short, be steamrolled by work and get sick. I apologize if anyone had been waiting for their personal ending, I'll get to them (eventually). Now, this one was requested by Cyan Raccoon over on fanfiction.net and Papalina over here. (Warning for explicit sexual content in this ending.)

Phryne groaned, turning onto her back and rubbing her throbbing forehead. For a while it was still as both came to terms with the situation.

“What exactly do you remember, Jack?” she finally asked, when he stayed stubbornly silent. The Inspector, who had been giving himself to his pounding headache rather than attempting to come up with a reaction to the recent events, felt put on the spot.

“I believe there was a party, Miss Fisher,” he finally said, his voice croaky and pathetic even to his own ears. “Which you happened to invite me to.”

Phryne nodded her head, immediately regretting the decision.

“Dear Sammy’s birthday.”

“And then after midnight ‘dear Sammy’,” Jack couldn’t keep his sarcasm out of his voice any longer, “brought out a delightful green beverage.”

“Which you were only too happy to drink, Jack,” Miss Fisher pointed out.

She sounded suspiciously like she was smiling now. Jack groaned again, shifting slightly to hopefully ease the pain in his limbs.

“After that things become a little foggy...” he said slowly. That was not entirely true. Some things were very clear indeed. Her lips on his. Her lips on… heavens. For a moment he clutched onto the chance that he may have imagined things after all. He had often heard that ‘Absinthe’ caused hallucinations, it may have all been a vivid dream, just like the alternative outcome of Miss Fisher’s Christmas party, which definitely had _not_ happened.

The soft sheets still hugging his entirely naked body though, told a different story which he couldn’t possibly disregard. Nor could he ignore the effect the few, frayed pieces of memory had. His cock, so far having lain in exhausted slumber, was stirring. Jack clutched the sheets tighter to himself, willing himself to breathe calmly. But the dam in his head was cracking already, pictures slipping through the gap. Holding her in his arms in the front of the Hispano, plundering her mouth with his. His hands on her blouse, her breasts... He squeezed his eyes shut. Drunkenly stumbling up the stairs, her hand in his, pulling him along. Miss Fisher pushing him up against her bedroom door, dropping to her knees… Jack groaned, sitting. Too late he remembered that he still completely bare. Hastily he clutched the quilt to himself, avoiding to look at her.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where my clothes are, Miss Fisher?”

“If my memory serves me right, your trousers lie at the top of the stairs,” Phryne said, sounding suspiciously bemused. He finally dared a quick glance and found her lying on her side, resting on her elbow, watching him. “Along with my dress,” she added, her voice holding silk and promise. Jack swallowed hard, fiddling with the sheets. He couldn’t possibly leave her bed in this state.

“But I rather think you recall that yourself,” she said after a moment’s pause. The inspector flinched when a warm fingertip brushed his thigh underneath the covers.

“Miss Fisher,” he said warningly.

“It’s a little late for coyness, Jack,” she grinned, her finger trailing along the outside of his leg.

Jack remembered.

He’d been on top. Which came as something of a surprise, really. But he distinctly remembered the moment, looking down at her, her blue eyes hazy with lust and probably her own fair share of absinthe. The moment he’d lost control, shattered into her, pleasure rippling through his body in waves until he’d collapsed, sated and spent into her arms. And she’d held him. Tenderly. Lovingly. And then...

With a snap he turned to look at her. His head protested the sudden change vehemently, but he managed to ignore it. Her fingers retreated, as if she’d felt the shift of mood.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Did I...” he licked his dry lips. “Did I utter any… questionable words?” he finally said.

Phryne frowned.

“None.”

With a breath of relief he sank back into the pillows.

“In fact I wouldn’t dare question any of your words last night.”

The air caught in his lungs. A warm palm touched his cheek, turned his face to look at her. Phryne was lying close now, still in her thin nightdress which hid little from him. Her eyes were soft and incredibly blue.

Then her lashes fluttered shut and as if hypnotised Jack watched her draw in. His eyes closed on their own accord as her lips brushed his. The dam finally broke. He pulled her close, heat rushing through his body as all the gaps flooded with sordid memories at once. Every single picture should have sent the blood rushing to his cheeks, but instead it appeared to pool somewhere else entirely. His hangover forgotten, he was clutching onto her like a drowning man, lost in the kiss, the feel of warm skin underneath his hands. Want threatened to drown every sober thought, but just in time he withdrew.

“I am so sorry,” he gasped. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“I have some idea,” Phryne said, to his surprise also considerably out of breath. For a moment they stared at each other, just centimeters apart, both breathing heavily. Jack felt some urge to flee but he couldn’t manage to tear himself away.

“Would you mind if we considered the complications this causes at a later point?” Miss Fisher whispered without taking her eyes off him. All Jack managed was a nod before his composure crumbled. The second kiss was messy and desperate. His hands were already roaming underneath her nightdress, the only remaining piece of clothing separating them.

A flashback of a fruitless attempt to take it off, returned, but he had no time to contemplate it. Her arms wrapped around him, pressing him against the silk. Jack’s tongue abandoned her lips, brushing along her jawline and trailing down her neck in a wish to refresh his fuzzy memories. Her scent was intoxicating and a soft moan rewarded him for his efforts, cutting straight through to his very soul. Whichever parts of his body had not yet been affected by her proximity were now very definitely awake.

Just as he felt his arousal couldn’t grow any more, her soft fingers wrapped around his erection, causing him to see stars. When he’d opened his eyes again, she was looking at him, her head tilted in wonder. It took a moment for him to be able to speak.

“You will be the death of me, Miss Fisher,” he finally managed. She simpered in response, her hand stroking him slowly.

“I don’t care much for necrophilia, Jack.”

As if to prove the point her palm tightened around him. Jack’s groan echoed off the walls. He surrendered himself to his fate and sank back into the pillows, pulling her down with himself.

The quilt made its descent to the floor with a soft swishing sounds, exposing the lovers. Phryne had come to lie half on top of Jack, her knee resting between his thighs. As a side effect he could feel the soft prickle of her hair against his hip, an idea of wetness already rubbing against his skin. His hard cock twitched against her palm, slicking the head with a drop of pre-cum. A tender thumb rubbed it into his skin.

Jack watched her doings with hypnotized attention. A part of him was scared, embarrassed, the rest was humming with unconcealed excitement. He had imagined this for many more times than he cared to remember, but his dreams had never done the reality justice.

“Alright?” Phryne asked suddenly.

He tore his eyes from her fingers. Concern shone in her blue eyes and with a start he realised that he’d stopped breathing. Instead of an answer his fingers wove into her hair and pulled her in for another kiss. This one was tender, but laced with promise and desire. He had yet to properly touch her, but suddenly it seemed to Jack like they had time.

As their kiss deepened, his fingertips trailed along her frame, settling on her hip, then, in a sudden act of brevity his hand dipped between her thighs, finding satisfying wetness. When he slipped a finger inside her, Phryne groaned into his mouth, her hips rolling against him.

Jack withdrew, bit his lip. Her eyes were clouded over with lust and an idea sparked in his mind. When he retrieved his fingers she groaned in disappointment, which quickly dissolved into anticipation as he guided her onto her back and slipped down her body, without taking his eyes off hers. Now kneeling between her legs, Jack paused to take in the sight, commit it to memory. The silk had slipped upwards, exposing a spray of small, dark curls that couldn’t hide just how wet she was. Phryne was watching him, her chest heaving, hard nipples pressing through the silk, a soft blush spreading down to the edge of her nightgown. He reached out, peeled the silk down to expose one of her breasts. She threw her had back and bit her lip when he circled the bud with the nail of his thumb, making him fear he was going to cum before he’d ever had a chance to touch her. That wouldn’t do. Leaning down he peppered small kisses over her belly, then followed her heady scent further down until he reached the soft folds, attempted a hesitant lick.

Jack knew he was out of his depths. He had never touched a woman with his mouth, but often fantasized of it. Phryne’s quiet moans encouraged him to explore. It was a confusing, wet landscape of hills and valleys, each drawing a different sound from her. But despite not being entirely certain of any success, he continued to flick and suck whatever he could reach, until the rhythm of her breath grew sharper and a hand came to grip his hair, holding him in place. He obediently stilled, let his tongue sweep over a small nub in steady staccato. Her groans grew louder, the finger’s in his hair tightened, her hips now rolling against his mouth. He licked harder, hoping against hope that he could fulfill the appetite of an experienced woman like Phryne. Moments later he felt her thighs clamp around him, trapping him, as she began to tremble. The hand in his hair clenched, now almost painful, as she rose off the mattress with what could only be described as a scream. For several moments Jack thought he might pass out in a mixture of glittering excitement and being suffocated between her legs, then she fell back onto the pillows, releasing him.

Jack rose, hastily gasping for air, as he watched her catching herself. She was breathtakingly beautiful, face flushed, hair in disarray, her bare lips pulled into a satisfied smile. She reached out a hand to him in a wordless request for him to join her. Jack obeyed without thought, unable to battle down his pride at having undone her.

He was impossibly hard by now, aching for release, but instead he held her until she had come down from her high while softly stroking her hair.

After a while she rolled onto her side to face him. His fingers carefully pulled the strap back over her shoulder.

“You’ve got gooseflesh, Miss Fisher,” he finally broke their silence. Phryne’s smile fell, when he abruptly rolled away and sat up. Moments later he laid back down beside her, pulling the quilt over her cold shoulder.

“Thank you,” she murmured, snuggling against his chest. Jack pulled her close, feeling something deep inside him shift.

“It was my pleasure.”

Phryne smiled, stroking a stray look of hair from his face. He let his eyes drop shut, despite the still humming desire in his body resigning himself to just lie with her. If his memory served him right, he had gotten plenty of satisfaction last night.

Phryne had other ideas. Her fingers continued on to trail down his sensitive neck, threatening his resolve. When her palm brushed over his chest, grazing a nipple, his eyes fluttered open.

“What are you doing, Miss Fisher?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Refreshing your memory, Jack,” she purred without stopping. Before he had a chance to answer her legs wrapped over his hips, her still wet sex pressing against his hard cock. Jack exhaled sharply. Her hand joined them without any build-up and suddenly incredible heat surrounded him, threatening to rob his breath. Her hand trailed over his back, painting every muscle while her hips began to roll against him. Jack bit down on his lip to stop himself from losing his sanity entirely. They quickly established a slow, intense rhythm. Her hand had returned to the back of his neck, now pulling him in. Their mouths met in a heated kiss.

“You taste like me,” she whispered against his hot lips. He didn’t answer, but his arm wrapped tighter around her in a silent response. Jack felt as if he was drowning. He didn’t mind. It was a delicious pain that slowly engulfed his entire body, every muscle rigid with scorching, beautiful arousal. He buried himself to the hilt with every stroke, his eyes locked with hers, her breath stroking his flushed cheeks as he chased his relief. When it came it surprised him, a sudden flash of raw, white lust shooting down his spine, exploding through every fibre of his body. Panting, he resurfaced, attempted to pull back, apologize for the mess he’d doubtlessly left, but found himself in her firm, calm grasp which didn’t allow any argument. She pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.

“Good?” she asked quietly.

He nodded, wordlessly, licking his dry lips. For a while they lay in silence as his breath slowed. Phryne’s leg was still wrapped around him where their juices were beginning to seep into the sheets, leaving a sticky mess for Mr Butler to clean up. At the thought Jack’s ears turned red. Doubtlessly one of Miss Fisher’s servants had by now found the trail of clothing they had left across the house and had put the pieces together. Jack would have to get past them to leave.

A darker, more threatening thought ambushed the inspector before he could even come to terms with the rising embarrassment. Would he return once he’d left? Was this the dawn of something new or had they just thrown their partnership off balance, never to recover? Suddenly Phryne’s fingers moved, gently trailing over his face as if in an attempt to stroke his worries away.

“What now, Miss Fisher?” he asked quietly, when he read the questions in her eyes. She shrugged her white shoulder. His heart sank further.

“Now we take breakfast,” she smiled, retreating from his embrace and rolling out of bed in one, swift movement. She tied her black morning gown as she rounded the bed to sit by his side. “And then I believe we have a murder to solve. And then...” she trailed off.

“Then?” Jack asked, breathlessly.

“Then we will solve this riddle,” she said running her fingers through his hair. Against his better judgment, Jack allowed hope to sweep through him.

“Very well,” he said, sitting up, exposing himself to her lustful eyes. “But first breakfast, Miss Fisher.”

 


	6. Ending 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending was requested by the lovely Just_J. (I made some slight changes to keep it distinct from the second one, but stuck to the spirit.) Enjoy!

 

“Jack?” Phryne whispered, blinking slowly.

Then she reached out her hand. The Inspector flinched in surprise but allowed her to lay her palm over his forehead. His eyes slid shut. A fragment of memory slipped past his conscience. After a few, blissful moments, her caring hand left again, having found satisfaction.

“It appears the fever has broken,” Phryne said happily, sitting up. “Are you feeling better?”

Jack contemplated this. He couldn’t honestly pretend to be in great shape. Both sore and exhausted, he suspected his state was _not_ owed to any erotic escapades.

“You _do_ remember?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. He licked his dry lips when he realised that her thin nightdress didn’t hide much, cleared his throat.

“It is all a bit foggy,” he finally admitted. He started at his own voice, which was raw and croaky. “I dimly recall not feeling well. I turned in early on Sunday, hoping to sleep it off.”

“You didn’t show for work Monday morning and dear Hugh raised the alarm.” Miss Fisher provided, climbing out of bed. “You suffered a terrible case of the flu.”

Jack nodded slowly. Things were falling into place.

“That explains a lot, Miss Fisher. But not how I’ve ended up in your bed,” he said after a long moment of watching her search for her morning gown, before spotting it on the floor. He resolved to fix his eyes onto the bedspread when she bent to pick it up.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Jack.”

She turned, tying the black belt around her waist, allowing him to finally look at her. He felt his heart flutter in his chest. So this was what it would be like to wake up with Phryne Fisher. Jack pushed the thought aside, trying to return to business.

“I assume I didn’t sleepwalk to your house,” he stated dryly.

“Certainly not.” She sat at his bedside, seeming suddenly embarrassed. “Mac thought it would be wise if someone looked after you until you were out of the woods, so to speak.”

“And you felt compelled to play nurse, Miss Fisher?”

He couldn’t hide a smile at the thought. Phryne shrugged, tilting her head.

“I do have some experience in the matter.”

“So you do.”

For a long moment they were silent.

“So there is the account on how you ended up in my house. However, when I left you last night in Dot’s hands you were still lying in fever dreams and, may I add, in the guestroom across the hall. How you came to sleep in my bed remains a mystery.”

The Inspector had fallen silent. There were memories, he had to admit, if fragmented. Her cool hand on his forehead was the one leaving the deepest impression, but it was far from the only one. Mr. Butler feeding him tea, holding his upper body in a vice like grasp. Mac sticking something cold into his mouth. In the daylight likely a thermometer, but he rather suspected he had spat it at her once or twice. Miss Williams, in a chair by his bedside, fast asleep. And an incredible spell of thirst that had him stumbling around the room, looking for water.

He ran his hand over his face in embarrassment.

“I’m afraid I was an exceedingly annoying patient, Miss Fisher,” he said.

She smiled at his words.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Jack.” She rose. “I believe everyone will be very happy to see you back on your feet. We were all rather worried about you,” she added, more serious.

Jack gaped at her. Miss Fisher worried? There was a picture he didn’t see often. A knock at the door interrupted their conversation before he could attempt an answer.

“Miss, the Inspect...” Dorothy William cut herself off when she spotted Jack sitting in the bed. He pulled the blanket higher, feeling suddenly bare despite the stripy pyjamas someone had stuck him into. He rather hoped it hadn’t been Miss Fisher.

“I’m afraid I fell asleep,” Miss Williams mumbled, flushing. “Sorry, Miss.”

“Well, luckily he didn’t get far,” Phryne grinned. “Now, Dot, since you are well rested, would you mind fixing some breakfast? I suspect the inspector will be hungry after the last days.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest that he had truly troubled their hospitality enough, but closed it again when his stomach grumbled in protest. Miss Williams rushed off with a last curious look at him and they were alone again.

“Now, Jack, are you joining me downstairs or would you prefer to take breakfast in my bed?” Phryne asked, her voice both sultry and teasing. Jack gulped.

“A tempting offer, Miss Fisher, but I believe the dining room will do,” he said after a beat.

Phryne turned in the door, smiling. 

“As you wish, Jack. But consider it a standing invitation.”

 


	7. Ending 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was absolute teamwork with three suggestions on fanfiction.net from Jj, Ritzy Mermaid and Sarah Axl. Thank you, to all of you who have left me ideas, I'm very much enjoying this experiment. And if you still have any suggestions, please post them below.

“Jack,” Phryne said, reaching out a hand to touch his face, then continued, as if in a mantra: “Jack, Jack, Jack.”

Her fingers brushed aimlessly over his nose, his cheeks, his jawline. Despite her caress being not exactly gentle, Jack felt the urge to giggle uncontrollably. He reigned himself in.

“I thought I’d dreamed you,” she said, suddenly serious. Jack cleared his dry throat.

“You and me both, Miss Fisher.”

A smile slowly bloomed on her moonlit features. Then she rolled over onto her back, almost off the blanket spread out in the damp grass. He remembered _some_ parts of the evening, though they seemed to be poured into thick glass. Mrs Stanley’s intensely boring birthday celebrations. Not a single murder had happened. The evening had picked up immensely after they had snuck away into the park to watch the moon reflecting on the waves of the small lake while sharing a generous bottle of champagne.

“The stars are so incredibly beautiful,” Phryne said, bringing him back to the present.

“They are,” Jack answered quietly. A soft breeze rustled in the surrounding bushes. Something compelled him to stroke her naked shoulder. She didn’t shrug him off and he continued drawing slow circles on her before pulling the offending strap back up. It belonged to a dress, which he, for some reason or another, knew sparkled wonderfully in the light of a ballroom.

“You aren’t even looking,” Phryne complained.

“Oh, I am, Miss Fisher,” he murmured, his fingers trailing up her neck, his thumb brushing along her jawline. She turned her head. Their eyes locked. The night air appeared to suddenly crackle with electricity.

Their lips met slowly, hesitantly. Her mouth was warm and soft and flavoured with champagne. Fireworks danced along his spine and despite the chasteness of their kiss, Jack had lost his breath by the time they drew back. Phryne stared at him, her eyes huge in the moonlight. He was about to pull her in again, when she began to giggle.

“You taste of fudge,” she said, once she had calmed a little. “Cousin Guy’s special fudge.” Another chuckle escaped her throat as she rolled away from him.

Jack finally realised what had happened.

“You drugged me, Miss Fisher?” he asked, attempting sternness and failing.

“Just a little fudge, Jack,” she said. “And _you_ ate it.”

He couldn’t argue with that. So he chose not to.

“You are always soo….” Phryne explained, stretching the last word on her tongue.

“So?”

Her nose crinkled in distaste.

“Controlled,” she finally said.   
“I see,” Jack answered, also rolling onto his back.

The stars _were_ in fact very beautiful. He felt like the dark night sky might absorb him. Not the worst way to die, all things considered. Warm skin brushed his knuckles. His hand wrapped around Phryne’s without any thought, their fingers intertwining.

“Would you like me to be less in control then?” he asked, when they had said nothing for some time. “Because right now I am in a great struggle not to kiss you again.”

He could hear a quiet rustle, feel her eyes resting on him but he stubbornly stared up into the sky.

“We could just risk it, Jack.” A smile was colouring her voice now. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

He turned his head to look at her, found her eyes fixed on him with an expression he knew. Excited golden stars danced in Jack’s belly, the sky so close that he could have grasped it. But a tiny, familiar twinge in his chest held him back.

“You will break my heart, Miss Fisher,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Try me,” she whispered.

And so he did.

Moments later he was lying half on top of her, breathlessly panting into her mouth while she freed his shirttails from his trousers. Her dress was already half off, revealing a silk camisole, which seemed to offer very little resistance to his desperate hands. Her fingers had taken on a life of their own, at present opening his trouser buttons. Jack thought he’d faint when she slipped inside, rubbing him through only a thin layer of cotton. Apparently his reaction had been also rather vocal, as Phryne suddenly stilled, pressing a finger to his lips. Then he heard it too: heavy steps were drawing closer.

“Who’s there?” a woman called.

“Aunt P,” Phryne hissed quietly, her eyes widening in almost comic shock. With a quickness neither had expected, Jack had clambered off her, hastily buttoning up trousers and suspenders. There was no way to make himself presentable in time. Panic swept through him.

“I see you there, between the bushes. Stop at once!” Prudence Stanley yelled, now incredibly close.

“Come,” Phryne whispered beside him, grasping his hand. Before he could protest, she had pulled him out of the other side of the bushes, where thicker darkness hid them from Aunt P’s lamp.

“Have you no shame?” their pursuer bellowed, as they raced away between the flickering shadows, their hearts beating in their throats. The lake lay calm and glittering in the moonlight, oblivious to the drama unfolding on its bank. The couple reached a small boat house hidden between high bushes. Breathing heavily, they dared to pause. In the distance they could still make out Mrs Stanley’s lamp, but she seemed to be moving in the other direction, still muttering about those ‘young people without morals’.

“I don’t think she recognized us,” Miss Fisher whispered. “Poor Aunt P.”

“A lucky escape,” Jack said dryly. “I don’t want to imagine my fate if she caught me defiling her niece in her gardens.”

“Is that what you were doing then?” Phryne asked, and was suddenly very, very close again. Before he could answer Jack found himself pressed up against the rough wooden wall and kissed with ardour. He was panting again when she drew back.

“Shall we continue where we were interrupted?” Phryne asked, tilting her head. He contemplated this for a moment. He could still make his own lucky escape. But her body was still pressed against his, her lips invitingly open and he slipped a hand around her neck and brought his lips down on hers again.

“It would be my pleasure,” he whispered beside her ear before kissing along her jawline. Phryne moaned in the back of her throat, sinking into his attentions.

“I’ll make sure of it. But maybe with a little more privacy.”

With that she recaptured his hand, dragging him towards a door in the rough wood. He allowed himself to be maneuvered into the twilight of the boathouse without a struggle. If he was sure to have his heart broken, he mused, he might as well enjoy the stars.

 


	8. Ending 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending was inspired by a comment from Charlotte. Any more ideas you'd like me to write? Please leave them below.

Phryne slowly lifted her head and spied into thick darkness surrounding them.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“Can’t say I have,” he murmured back.

Jack didn’t dare move a muscle, listening attentively into the night. Phryne, on the other side of the bed, carefully laid back down. Her fingers slipped underneath the unfamiliar pillow to grasp for her revolver. Jack battled down the urge to pull up the still offensive nightdress strap as he contemplated the strange situation. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Well, no, actually it had always appeared thoroughly misguided if he was honest. But checking into Scott’s Hotel as Mr and Mrs Archibald von Bayerbach, was both reckless and morally questionable, which made it a splendid adventure in Miss Fisher’s eyes and as usually he had lost the battle against propriety or sense. So here he was now, in bed with Phryne Fisher pretending to be his wife, waiting for jewel thieves who may or may not come.

His ears pricked. She was right. A quiet scraping. Jack held his breath as the door opened, a thin sliver of light falling into the sitting room of their suite. Two shadows slipped inside. Jack’s fingers fisted into the sheets.

At the same moment Phryne touched his arm and quietly they rolled out of bed, her golden pistol glittering in the dim moonlight. Jack hurried to pull his own weapon from its hiding place underneath his coat. When he turned, Miss Fisher was standing behind a wing of the opened bedroom doors. He joined her, attempting to ignore a whiff of French perfume invading his nostrils. The two thives in the sitting room were riffling hastily through drawers with astounding speed and silence. Those weren’t amateurs, the inspector noted, with a hint of admiration he suppressed quickly. A crime was a crime no matter how skilled or efficient it was committed. As he thought it, a small coin dropped, rolling over the floor.

“Be careful. You’re gonna wake the old fool and his silly wife,” the taller thief hissed.

Jack’s hands balled to fists by his side but realised that Miss Fisher was nudging him. He understood. Quietly the inspector snuck towards the main door, turned the key in its lock and slipped it into his pocket.

“I found it!”

The whispered exclaim, uttered by the other thief, startled him. It was familiar. While the woman triumphantly raised Phryne’s diamond necklace into the moonlight falling through a large French door, Jack’s eyes thought out Phryne, merely a shadow in her hiding place, but there was the hint of a nod. In the same moment, his foot bumped into something. The stupid sideboard! Jack suppressed a curse as pain shot through his big toe.

“What was that?” the man asked.

“That was the old fool,” Jack said calmly, limping forward, his pistol raised. “Hands were I can see them.”

Then things happened rather quickly. He heard Phryne rush forward, light flashed, blinding him. A knee hit his stomach, missing his privates by mere inches. When Jack recovered, sore and now thoroughly enraged, he found the man by the door, pulling desperately at the handle. The woman still stood by the windows, the hand with the diamonds sunk by her side underneath Phryne’s stern glare.

“Lord and Lady Austrich,” Miss Fisher said, clicking her tongue. “Who would’ve thought?”

She was ignored.

“You were just gonna leave me? Seriously?” the lady asked, forgetting her posh accent. “Your mother always warned me you’re a cad. I should’ve listened.”

“Oh, don’t you start. I told you, something not right with them. His mustache was fake, I said. But no, madame needed to have the diamonds...”

The detectives shared a bemused look past the bickering couple. That was a mistake. they’d live to regret instantly.

Phryne’s pistol flew through the air, while Lady Austrich still spun in an elegant twirl. It bounced completely undramatically off the sofa cushions. The thief meanwhile flew through the French doors out onto the balcony, Phryne hot on her heels, while Jack shoved her husband into a coat cabinet and locked the door behind him. Loud protest followed him as he chased the women out into the cold night. He came just in time to see Miss Fisher climb onto the balustrade while the thief had already reached the next window sill, climbing like a monkey.

“Phryne,” he called, but she ignored him, her hands slung around a pillar of sandstone, her thin nightdress fluttering in the wind.

Jack’s stomach plummeted with fear and he averted his eyes only to stare down into the street, far underneath Phryne’s bare feet. He had to remind himself to breathe.

“Jack, the neighbours,” she called and he awoke from his trance. Of course! He raced back inside, his heart pounding in his ears and past the false Lord’s banging against the wooden cabinet, out into the hallway and over faded red carpet, hammered on a door that seemed to lie vaguely in the right direction.

“What on earth…?” a sleepy voice sounded.

“Open up, police!” Jack yelled, realising that he wasn’t making for an impressive figure in his stripy pyjamas. When nothing happened, he resolved to break down the door, just to find no resistance as the wood swung inside just in the same moment.

An elderly lady in a quilted morning gown and curlers in her hair, glared accusingly at the man stumbling past her into the room.

“City South Police,” Jack gasped, paying now mind to her.

“Your superior will hear of this,” she called while the inspector ripped open the window. Phryne was by now clutching onto a window sill to his right, still following the thief who had reached a bay window further away.

“Bedroom?” he asked breathlessly. The lady pointed wordlessly at a door and he raced through it, finding Lady Austrich’s butt pressed against the glass. With one swift movement he was by the window, but too slow. The jewel thief had spotted him and attempted a jump to the next window. She miscalculated. Her feet slipped on the damp stone. For a moment she seemed to be hanging in thin air, staring at the inspector with an almost comical expression of terror. Then she fell. He averted his eyes.

“Jack?” he heard a strained voice through the anguished red fog. “A little help here?”

He threw open the window to find Miss Fisher dangling off the window sill, one hand wrapped around the sandstone, the other curled into the back of Lady Austrich’s dress. The jewel thief gurgled protest about the rather uncomfortable position, but the detectives paid her no mind.

“Dear God,” Jack breathed, grabbing Miss Fisher underneath her arm and pulling as hard as he could. When he almost went over himself, he resolved to screaming for help at the top of his lungs, his feet digging into the old carpet.

“You’ll have to let her go,” he gasped, stemming himself against the wall. “I can’t pull you both up.” A string of cursing hit him from downstairs.

“She’s got my diamonds,” Phryne pressed out between gritted teeth.

“Are they worth dying for?”

She tilted her head in thought. Moments later they heard heavy boots drew closer.

“Here he is. He’s gone mad!” the woman yelled, leading two bellboys into the room, along with the porter Jack recognized and a serious looking man who wore an expensive looking morning gown and a grim smile.

“Sir, what are you doing here?” he asked in impressive baritone.

“What does it look like?” Jack gasped, straining. As he spoke the weight of the two women was slowly, but surely drawing him over the edge.

“I will have you know, the ‘Scotts’ is a proper hotel, we do not allow...”

The porter was obviously smarter than his superior, he rushed to the window where Jack struggled to not be drawn through the frame.

“Gavin, Frederik. Give us a hand!” he called over his still intoning director. The young men did as told and moments later an exhausted Miss Fisher toppled on top of Jack, followed by Lady Austrich, who hadn’t lost any of her charming personality through the scary adventure of dangling above certain death.

Under her screeching protest, Jack arrested her.

“Telephone the police,” he demanded loudly from their unwilling hostess. “Ask for City South.”

The elderly women grumbled something about rude men, but went to the dining room to do as told.

“What is going on here?” the director asked, his impressive voice shaking with rage. “I demand to know this moment-”

Miss Fisher climbed to her feet, shaking her hair back into shape.

“Mr Garret, isn’t it?” she asked, friendly, then peeled up her nightdress to fish something from her garter. He gaped at her, his mouth open.

“ _The Honorable Phryne Fisher_ ,” he read the card, slowly, disbelievingly.

“Lady Detective,” she added with a smirk, then turned to Jack. “Inspector Jack Robinson and myself took the liberty of setting a trap for the jewel thieves who have been robbing old ladies blind in similar establishments.”

“Oh,” Garret made.

“Successfully, as you can see,” she paused. “Jack, where is _Lord_ Austrich?”

“I left him in our suite, Miss Fisher.”

Her nose creased.

“Don’t worry, I doubt very much he’s managed to escape,” Jack said grimly. “Old English oak.” Officers arrived, the room filled with people and it took another fifteen minutes until they could finally clear out and leave the old lady to her well deserved peace and quiet and the firm belief that the world in general had gone mad. Lord Austrich, who would turn out to be one John James Jackson Morrick by the next morning, was also rescued under protest from the cabinet.

And then it was just Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher, not pretending to be a married couple any longer, but still in their night garments and entirely alone in a hotel suite. Jack swallowed as he noted another flaw in their plan.

“What now, Miss Fisher?” he asked. She shrugged.

“We could get dressed and go home,” she said.

“I guess we could.”

Her eyes glittered up at him and he fought very hard not to be drawn in by her lips. She tilted her head.

“Then again, close brushes with death always make me thirsty,” she said quietly, leaving him to pour two tumblers of whisky. Obediently Jack followed her wordless invitation and sank into the deep cushions of the sofa. They drank in silence, while they contemplated the events.

“Tell me, Miss Fisher,” he finally asked, “you weren’t going to let her go, were you?”

“Of course not, Jack,” she answered, simpering.

The inspector nodded. He hadn’t thought so. Miss Fisher would rather get them both killed than drop a criminal from a building. He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that. He glanced at her face while she, with full concentration, swirled the amber liquid around the tumbler in mesmerising circles.

“You are quite something, Miss Fisher,” he finally said.

She looked up and smiled at him.

“If you say so, dearest husband.”

She smirked. Jack rolled his eyes at her in exasperation. His naked feet were growing exceedingly cold but he felt no desire to move or get dressed. The adrenaline was draining away, making room for leaden tiredness.

“So, the mustache was entirely convincing?” he finally asked accusingly, in an attempt to distract from her words having woken aches in him he didn’t want to address.

“It suited you.” She took another sip, looking at him through her lashes. “Maybe you should consider one, Jack.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, not bothering with an answer to such silliness.

“Then again,” she moved a little closer. “I quite enjoy your face as is.”

She gently brushed his cheek with her palm and he forgot to breathe.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice strangled.

“Naturally,” she grinned, freeing the empty glass from his hand and rising to her feet. “Why else should I have made you my husband?”

She winked at him over the decanter from which she was refilling his tumbler. Jack licked his dry lips.

“In order to catch some jewellery thieves,” he pointed out. “And may I add, very briefly.”

She slipped back down, handing him his glass.

“True,” she admitted, raising her tumbler to a toast, a gesture which he returned. “But as far as husbands go, Jack, I must admit you are quite civil.”


	9. Ending 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something short and sweet from my own list until I figured out the next prompt. Enjoy!

Ending 8

 

Phryne pulled herself half up on her elbow, trying to orientate herself. Jack’s bedroom. So, it hadn’t been a dream. Quiet breathing sounded from the bed. She turned back towards the inspector, who also seemed awake. She wondered dimly if he suffered nightmares too.

“I dreamed Wardlow sank into the ocean,” she whispered.

“Just a burst pipe, Miss Fisher,” the inspector said, equally quietly. “Wardlow won’t turn into Atlantis.”

He smiled.

Phryne shivered, snuggling back down into the pile of pillows. He reached out and pulled the thin blanket back over her cold shoulder.

Memories came flooding back, the moment when something had dripped into her wineglass while taking dinner with Jane and Dot, drawing her eyes to the ceiling and finding it bulging with water. They’d fled the house with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, just to run into the arms of the inspector.

Phryne attempted to get comfortable, but despite Jack having piled all blankets, quilts and cushions he’d found onto the floor, she could still feel the hardness of the wooden boards against her hip and shoulder. Up on the bed, Dot snorted in her sleep, turning over. Jane sighed quietly. She wasn’t used any more to annoying bed partners.

“Thank you for taking us in,” she said quietly. Jack shrugged a shoulder. Moonlight played over his features and she had to resist the urge to paint it with her fingers.

“The least I could do, Miss Fisher.”

He appeared content to try and go back to sleep, but Phryne felt an inner unrest now that she knew would keep her awake.

“That’s not quite true. We could’ve gone to a hotel,” she said.

A shadow crossed his face and she regretted having spoken what was on her mind.

“That would’ve been doubtlessly more comfortable,” he admitted after a long moment.

Phryne contemplated his words for a while. For some reason a hotel appeared less tempting than sleeping on Jack’s bedroom floor.

“What could possibly beat a quilt spread on the floorboards?” she quipped when she still found him watching her in silence.

“I could name a number of things.”

He gave her a lopsided smile and her heart did a somersault in her chest. Mr B, lying downstairs on the sofa snored loudly and mercilessly into the romantic moment.

Jack rolled his eyes as he listened into the night.

“I hope you don’t find my presence here inappropriate,” he whispered after a moment. “I could not manage to find any sleep downstairs.”

“Considering this is your bedroom, I can hardly ask you to leave for our benefit,” Phryne said, pulling the blanket closer around herself to fend off the cold night. The fire had by now burned down to ashes and frost was creeping through the walls. It must have been close to sunrise.

Her knuckles brushed Jack’s and his warmth drew her in with irresistible force. Carefully she stretched out her fingers, running them over the soft cotton of his pyjamas. His eyes were light against the darkness, watching her unblinking. His features remained unreadable, but after a long moment he lifted his blanket, wrapping it over hers and pulling her close. As she snuggled against his warm chest Phryne knew that neither of them would ever mention this night again. But somehow, as she slipped back to sleep, tightly curled into Jack’s arms, it didn’t matter at all.

 


	10. Ending 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gave me a bit of a headache, but I hope it was worth it in the end. Prompt from Tandbanjo. Enjoy!

“Oh, drat,” Miss Fisher said.

Jack stared at the woman dumbfounded as a pair of impressive green eyes watched him carefully. Despite his massive hangover the detective in Jack was coming rapidly to a surprising conclusion: the woman in his bed was not, in fact, Phryne Fisher.

He clutched his sheet to himself.

“Who are _you_?” he asked, fighting down his panic.

The woman tilted her head in a gesture that seemed vaguely familiar.

“Way to flatter a woman, inspector,” she said, throwing back the sheets. She was very far from dressed and Jack felt heat rise in his cheeks.

“Marie White,” she said lightly, as she picked a sparkling golden dress from the floor. “We met at Pauline’s birthday party...” she trailed off, waiting for his memory to take over.

“Oh,” Jack made, groaning inwardly.

He had found himself unable to refuse Miss Fisher’s invitation to accompany her to a ball on a small country estate. The amount of champagne flowing had been as obscene as the amount of old money assembled in the tiny ballroom. If it hadn’t been for Miss Fisher, the evening would’ve been entirely unbearable. But the inspector had put on a brave face and sipped champagne and made conversation before sipping more champagne.

As the evening had progressed, he’d changed company numerous times, losing Phryne in the crowd. Miss White had joined him with the hostess’ husband Marcel and her fiance David Price. Her appearance had struck him straight away, not only because she did actually have some resemblance with the lady detective. Clever green eyes had sparkled underneath a head of raven black hair, cropped just slightly shorter than Phryne’s, and her dress showed both taste and no desire to hide. The group had discussed the opening of pharaohs’ graves in Egypt, the possibility of curses – which Jack didn’t believe in - and the difference between grave robbers and archeologists – which Miss White didn’t – and at some point Jack had realised that Phryne had begun to dance quite closely with a man who hadn’t been introduced to him. At which point the evening had inevitably _become_ unbearable.

Since they were about half an hour’s drive from Melbourne and they had come in the hispano, Jack had no other choice than the guestroom the lady of the house had reserved for him and he had fully intended to make use of it, right after draining a generous glass of whiskey to ease the pain.

And that was as far as he recalled. Miss White, who was currently fastening a ripped stocking had not been part of the plan – nor did she feature in his memories.

“Did we…?” Jack cut himself off, cleared his throat. The fact that he was entirely undressed didn’t bode well. But he couldn’t have been so drunk as to forget… relations. Surely not?

Marie White stopped in slipping a strap of her dress over her white shoulder and looked at him smiling.

“You don’t remember?” she asked, sitting by his bedside.

He flinched, when she ran long, manicured fingers through his hair and down his cheek.

“Poor darling,” she purred. “It was a night worth remembering.”

Jack bit back any nasty replies he was tempted to throw at her.

“But as much fun as it was, I must be going,” she smiled, oblivious to his discomfort. “My fiance is the jealous type and he’d better not find out where I’ve spent the night.”

She stood, peeling her fur stole from a chair.

“In that case it might be advisable not to wake in strangers’ beds,” Jack stated, no longer able to hide his annoyance. She simpered.

“Lets blame the champagne,” she said, smiling lopsidedly at the inspector, then leaned down to leave a lipstick smear on his cheek. Her perfume, Phryne’s perfume he recognized, caused a wave of nausea to sweep through his stomach.

“This will stay our little secret, won’t it?”

Jack, still sitting in bed, clutching the sheets to himself, swallowed hard.

“Don’t worry, I have no desire for anyone to find out about this.”

She simpered and turned to the door, when a knock sounded and without a pause the door flew open.

“Good morning, Ja-”

Miss Fisher stopped cold while the inspector wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Then she suddenly smiled icily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company, Jack.”

“Miss White was just about to leave,” the inspector stated grimly. The lady in question threw him a look.

“So I was.”

“Oh, don’t rush on my account.”

The two women passed each other with glittering eyes. Meanwhile, Jack considered the propriety of hiding underneath the covers. His head was pounding. It was a nightmare, it had to be. Any moment now he would wake. But instead, Miss White left and he was alone with Phryne Fisher, whose smile promised the beginning of an ice age.

“So, Jack,” she asked, planting herself at the side of his bed which Miss White had only recently abandoned, “what was the occasion for Marie’s early visit?”

Jack cleared his throat, searched his fuzzy brain feverishly for a lie.

“She was looking for her fiance,” he mumbled. “Since I had only just woken, I wasn’t of much help.”

“I see,” Phryne smiled.

He couldn’t shake the suspicion that she didn’t believe a word. Carefully she picked up the empty tumbler still sitting by his bedside table, rolled it between her palms.

“And she accidentally donned last night’s dress?” she asked after a long moment.

Jack sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples.

“Alright, Miss Fisher, you’ve caught me. Would you like the sordid details?” he asked, his voice tainted with exasperation.

Phryne shrugged, her eyes glued to the glass, then she looked up, smiling brightly.

“I just didn’t think she was quite your type, Jack.”

The inspector wanted to laugh, scream, possibly shake her. Instead he fished for his morning gown, slung over the foot of his bed.

“Would you mind if I get dressed before any further interrogation?” he snapped.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Phryne said, but made no move to leave.

Cursing her under his breath, Jack crawled from the sheets, covering himself as well as he could and slung the gown around himself, then pulled on some pyjama pants underneath. It was amazing what difference a few layers of fabric made to his comfort.

“You might want to be careful, Jack,” Miss Fisher said conversationally, while he ran a comb through his hair in a vain attempt to become presentable.

“Why is that, Miss Fisher?”

There was a pause.

“For one, Marie is engaged to be married.”

“So she informed me.”

Miss Fisher fell silent, but in the mirror Jack could see her still watching him. A smile was painted to her face which her eyes belied and he wished he could throw himself at her feet and explain that whatever had happened last night didn’t change a thing. But then that was a ridiculous idea.

“Tell me, what kind of woman is Marie White?” he asked suddenly.

“You should know that better than me, surely?” Phryne said, rising to her feet.

He gave her a long look and she sighed. “I don’t know her terribly well. She is merely an acquaintance, Jack.”

She stepped to the window, looked out into the rainy morning with her back turned to him.

“But she seems clever enough, and she’s certainly beautiful. A terrible match for that toad of a fiance, if you ask me.”

Jack’s ears pricked.

“You don’t approve of Mr Price?” he asked, searching his memories.

David M. Price had not left any lasting impressions with him. He was a well dressed man, but not particularly handsome, quiet, possibly he’d been bored with their conversation. The few things he had said had been meaningless and vague.

“He has some odd opinions,” Miss Fisher explained after a pause.

“Like not wanting his fiancee to spend the night with strangers?” Jack asked dryly.

He could see Miss Fisher roll his eyes at him in the reflection of the window. He stepped beside her, not close enough to touch, but the warmth radiating from her seemed to calm him all the same.

“They look rather happy,” she said.

He noticed instantly what she was talking about. Down in the square Mr Price was currently offering Miss White his arm as they wandered away into the park together. They were chattering animatedly, no cloud darkening their bliss. Jack didn’t understand.

“Tell me about them?” he requested as they watched the couple retreat.

Rain began to trickle down the window again.

“It seems an odd day for a walk,” Miss Fisher said, instead of an answer.

“The endurance granted by true love,” Jack said grimly.

He recalled a fair amount of times himself where he’d rushed through terrible weather to Phryne’s aid and wondered dimly if her mind was wandering down similar paths.

“I’m not sure how much love comes into the equation,” she said into his thoughts.

Apparently not.

“You don’t think she is attached to him then?” he asked, with some surprise.

“David became rich very quickly and her interest in him seems to have risen proportionally to his… financial stability.”   
“I see,” the inspector said slowly. “Out of interest, what kind of business is Mr Price involved in?”

“I believe him to be trading in stocks – but I certainly wouldn’t let him anywhere near _my_ finances. Rumour goes he is in some trouble with the law,” she explained. “Let’s hope for their marriage that his riches may last.”

She threw him a quick glance and smiled sarcastically.

“I doubt a relationship built on those premises can outlast anything much,” Jack rumbled.

Phryne finally tore her eyes from outside to look at him properly, her eyes incredibly blue and innocent and he couldn’t help but wish to kiss her despite knowing how little chance there was right now of finding even forgiveness.

“I suspect you’re right,” she breathed. Jack cleared his throat, retreating slightly.

“But since I haven’t detected any signs of deep attachment in David either, I refuse to feel sympathy for him,” Miss Fisher added calmly.

A genuine smile appeared on her features, which relieved the inspector beyond measure. For a long moment they looked at each other.

“Either way, Jack, I would not recommend you lose your heart to her,” she finally said.

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but she talked right over him.

“Now, shall we head down for breakfast?”

Her eyes dipped down his body in an obscene manner.

“Or would you prefer to get dressed first?”

Jack had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“I’m not very hungry, Miss Fisher” he said. “But don’t let me stop you, I’m sure your company would be sorely missed,” he added pointedly, thinking of her flirtation. If she had ended up in somebody’s arms, too? If so, she had managed to be more discreet than himself.

“As it happens I had tea and toast with Pauline at the break of dawn,” she said, shrugging. “A slight glitch in marital bliss. She was rather distraught, poor thing.”

Jack nodded, biting his lip. So no conquest for Miss Fisher last night then. He couldn’t help but embrace the relief flooding his veins, foolish as it was.

“In that case we should head back to Melbourne as soon as it is convenient?” he proposed. He couldn’t wait to escape this place and all the memories it didn’t hold.

“Certainly. I do have some packing to do though. Let’s say, I’ll meet you downstairs at...” she grasped his wrist to inspect his watch and Jack found himself holding his breath. “...half past?”

“I’ll be there.”

Jack waited until she had left, then he got dressed hurriedly. There was something he wanted to see before it was too late.

Minutes later he stepped into the sitting room down the hall, finding a maid with a mass of blonde curly hair in the progress of tidying the mess from last night.

“Morning, Miss...”

“Elizabeth,” the girl said.

“Miss Elizabeth, would you give me a moment please?”

The maid looked confused, but left him all the same.

Jack spun on his heels, taking in the scene. Half of the glasses had disappeared already, but the small table in the corner appeared largely untouched. Beside two empty glasses sat a decanter, holding a rest of amber liquid. The Inspector carefully lifted the glass lid and sniffed.

“Its tincture of opium, Jack” a voice said behind him. He spun. Miss Fisher leaned in the door, smiling at him. “The glass in your room smelled of it.”

Jack nodded slowly, replacing the lid. Miss Fisher stepped beside him.

“And since you are here, I have to suspect that you didn’t take it knowingly,” she stated happily. Jack feared that she was enjoying this game way too much. “So, why don’t you tell me what happened?” she asked, sinking into one of the green sofas.

The inspector looked at her and finally surrendered himself to her curiousity.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Miss Fisher,” he said, sitting down himself and kneading his hands on his lap. “My last memory is here. Sitting with some elder gentleman who felt inclined to share stories about his life at sea.”

Phryne considered this for a moment.

“I believe the captain’s choice of drug is mostly restricted to his pipe and a good whiskey,” she pointed out.

Jack sighed.

“No sign of anyone else,” he pointed out.

“That’s not quite true,” Phryne said. “Two glasses. And since there is one sitting in your room...”

“There was a third person,” Jack finished her thought. “Miss White?”

Phryne shook her head.

“Marie only drinks champagne. Also, no lipstick mark.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, his mind working feverishly. He’d been drugged, if by design or accident. And then? Could it be true that he had approached Miss White? Or had she taken advantage of his inebriated stage? The nausea returned with full force and so he’d almost missed the knock.

“Sir, may I continue to clean now?” Elizabeth asked.

“Of course,” the Inspector mumbled, rising to his feet.

All he wanted now was to return to Melbourne and forget any of this had ever happened. Miss Fisher had different ideas, however.

“Elisabeth, a word, please” she smiled.

“Yes, miss?”

“Can you remember who the Inspector was sitting here with last night?” Phryne asked. “He is missing his lighter and I believe someone may have put it in their pocket. Mistakenly, of course,” she added quickly.

The maid’s face clouded over.

“I’m sorry, miss, I worked downstairs last night. It was Magda serving drinks up here. She’s off to see her grandmother today.”

“I see,” Phryne paused, taking in this information. “Tell me, have you found anything else on this table?”

“Just the ashtray, miss.”

“Where is it?” Jack asked, more hastily than he had intended.

“Rosa’s taken it downstairs, sir, to be washed.”

Jack groaned inwardly, but set his jaw in defiance of any emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He would talk to Magda after her return and surely she would have some explanation to offer. Even the captain might be of use. Though, of course, if he’d also drunk the drugged whiskey, he might have as little memory as himself.

“But there was no lighter in it,” Elizabeth explained into his thoughts. “I’ve emptied it right here into the bin,” she said, picking up said item.

Jack crossed the room with quick steps, but Miss Fisher was a little faster.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” she said. “We might find it after all, inspector.”

With a pointed look at him, she left the confused maid to stare after her. Jack followed with the briefest words of gratitude. He didn’t catch up to Phryne until they’d reached his guest room.

“May I have your handkerchief?”

He handed the white cotton piece to her only for it to be covered in ashes moments later as she dumped out the bin onto his bed.

“I do think you enjoy to dirty my clean things, Miss Fisher,” he protested for good measure.

“Now, what do we have here?” Phryne asked, ignoring him other than a faint smirk. She picked up a stained cigarette stub.

“Miss White’s?”

Jack did recall her smoking quite a lot during their conversation.

“An exact match for her lipstick,” Phryne said.

He sat at the edge of the bed.

“Surely that doesn’t prove a thing? It wasn’t the only ashtray in the room.”

“But at least we know she was there, Jack. And so was David Price,” she added, lifting another stub. “He smokes a disgusting American tobacco. I’d recognize it anywhere. And that means--”

“Nothing,” Jack cut her off bitterly. “Your detecting abilities may be impressive, Miss Fisher, but Mr Price could well have left without her before his fiancee…” he gulped, “… retired.”

He rubbed his tired face, feeling defeated.

“In that case… there’s only one thing left to do.”

Jack looked up to find Phryne’s face glow with mischief and groaned. Nevertheless he found himself minutes later spying down the dim hallway in front of Price’s guestroom.

“The coast seems clear,” he whispered and Miss Fisher immediately went to work at the lock. It resisted her skills only moments. With an impressive creak the door swung in.

“Shhhs,” Jack made, following Phryne into the room. She rolled her eyes at him.

The room was slightly larger than his own, every surface littered with items, both of female and male description.

“Somehow I believe Mr Price would’ve missed his fiancee last night,” Jack stated, inspecting a very thin nightdress, “they don’t seem to have kept separate sleeping quarters”.

“Unless he knew exactly where she was,” Miss Fisher agreed, opening a drawer.

“But to what end?”

“Blackmail.”

“I was by far the poorest person in the room last night,” Jack pointed out, riffling through the desk.

“Money might not have been what they were after,” Phryne argued.

Before he got a chance to enquire after her meaning, Jack found a large bottle of brown liquid underneath a pile of paperwork.

“Laudanum,” he said. “You had the right nose, Miss Fisher.”

She smirked into a cabinet

“In more ways than one, Jack.”

As he turned, she pulled something free with a triumphant grin.

“A Zeiss Ikon. Brand new if I am any judge.”

“Is Mr Price a photography enthusiast?” Jack asked, inspecting the big black item in her hands.

“Not that I would know,” Miss Fisher said. “But if he did, would he have hidden it behind his suits rather than say… make photographs with it?”

Jack paled.

“You believe...” he trailed off.

“I believe he did snap a few.”

Phryne grinned.

“May I ask what you are doing in here?!” an angry voice interrupted their quiet conversation. The two detectives spun, finding a bright scarlet David M Price standing in the door, Miss White half hidden behind him, glowering.

“Oh, we were just admiring your camera,” Miss Fisher, who caught herself first, purred, opening the back. As expected, Price rushed forward to stop her.

“Don’t! You will expose the film!”

Phryne simpered, but kept the camera out of his reach easily, while Jack reached out to hold back the angry man.

“Silly me, you mean when I open here…”

“Stop!”

She halted.

“You seem to be rather attached to your photographs. Have you taken pictures of something exciting then?”

The shutting off the door drew their attention towards Miss White, who brandished a strained smile.

“I believe, David, our secret is up,” she said. “I’m afraid he took some rather… delicate pictures of me. You’ll understand that he wouldn’t want to lose those.”

She grasped for the camera, but Jack grasped her wrist, stopping her.

“I wouldn’t happen to be featured in those ‘delicate’ pictures as well, would I, Miss White?”

Her smile froze.

“A little anonymous letter in a week or two, a scandalous picture to go with it and suddenly your little legal troubles would’ve gone away? Did I get it right?” Phryne asked, her voice having gained a sharp edge.

“You can’t prove a thing,” Price said between gritted teeth, snatching the camera from her hands and before anyone could stop him, opened it. He paled.

“There’s no film in here...” he turned to his fiancee. “I don’t understand.”

“You bloody fool! It was all for naught,” Marie spat.

The detectives shared a look.

“Not quite.” Jack smiled icily. “I think you might get a few more problems with the law for your troubles. But not today. It is Sunday, and I have planned a nice scenic drive through the country side.”

He straightened his back.

“Miss Fisher?”

Smiling, she took the offered arm and passed by his side out of the room and down the stairs. The rain had ceased and after they’d taken their goodbyes from the Deniers and Jack had helped Miss Fisher into the Hispano, he leaned back in his seat, letting the wind cool his heated cheeks.

“So, Miss Fisher, what did you do with the film?” he asked after they had driven through the indeed scenic, but still rather wet, countryside for some time. She glanced at him, grinning.

“I may have slipped it in my pocket before they arrived.”

“I assume it will be destroyed?” Jack asked.

“Eventually.”

For a moment he was silent while his thoughts settled.

“You do not seriously consider to look at pictures of Miss White and myself...” he asked, measuring her profile. She shrugged.

“I am rather curious how they have managed anything worth blackmail,” she grinned after a pause. “In my experience people so under the influence of opium that they can’t remember a thing, aren’t very enthusiastic bed partners.”

Jack shuddered. She grew serious.

“And if my suspicions are correct, Jack, then they merely undressed and posed you. I cannot fathom that David would’ve allowed for anything more to happen.”

Jack drew a deep breath into his lungs. It was bad enough, he found. But indeed the photos might give him some peace of mind on that account. For some time neither of them spoke.

“One thing I don’t understand,” he finally said. “How would a scandal involving his fiancee not have been damaging to Mr Price himself?”

Phryne smiled without taking her eyes off the road.

“I won’t know for sure until the photographs are developed, but I suspect Marie isn’t clearly visible. Which means she could be interpreted as… somebody else.”

Shocked, Jack licked his dry lips.

“You may have noted that we share a certain resemblance,” Phryne added after a pause. He glanced at her, then closed his eyes to the first rays of sunshine breaking through dark clouds.

“Really, Miss Fisher? I hadn’t noticed at all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not your ending? Have a better idea? Please leave it in the comments.


	11. Ending 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending was requested by MusketeerAdventure over on fanfic - and it did not go the way I intended it to. At all.

 

Phryne’s heart pounded against her ribcage. So she hadn’t dreamed. Jack Robinson was actually in her bed!

Memories returned with the force of a sledge hammer. The Christmas party, lots of whiskey, a mistletoe… Oh God! She groaned, rolling onto her back and glanced at the one question written bright and glaring across the middle of her conscience: What now?

It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed last night. Not at all. A smile smile crept onto her lips, then disappeared just as quickly as panic again took hold of her. Things would have to change now. _She_ would have to change. Was she ready for that?

Phryne dared a glance at Jack, who was clutching her sheets to himself, watching her. He looked hungover and like he truly, truly regretted what had happened. Her heart sank further.

“Jack?” she asked, her voice small and cracking.

“Miss Fisher?”

To hear the formal title, after he had sighed her Christian name last night at the height of bliss, hurt so much that it momentarily took her breath away. She realised that she had no words.

“Are you staying for breakfast?” she finally asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

There was a pause. He was still looking lost and she longed to wipe his confusion away, run her fingers through his hair. It was so very soft.

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” Jack said slowly. She flinched, having forgotten what had been the question. “I..” he raised his wrist, inspecting his watch. “I fear, I am late for my shift.”

“I see.”

She had enquired Jack’s roster from Hugh before planning her Christmas party, in order to ensure his presence and therefore knew without the shadow of a doubt that there was nobody expected him at the station today.

Phryne flung her covers back, fishing for her dressing gown. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to escape from his proximity to sort her thoughts. She had, stupidly, assumed that they had reached a milestone last night. But it appeared Jack considered it merely a drunk mistake. If that was his opinion, she would treat it as such.

“A cup of coffee then? To help with the hangover?”

He cleared his dry throat, his eyes still glued to her. His expression was hurt now and she had to avert her eyes and clutter around the room in order to stop herself from crying.

“Would you have a headache powder by any chance?” he finally asked. That she could do and Phryne jumped onto the chance to busy her hands and mind with something for a couple minutes. When her attention turned to him again, a glass with the desired medication clasped between shaky fingers, he was sitting at the side of her bed, hastily buttoning his shirt.

A flashback came, unbidden.

It had been late by the time Jack had bid her goodnight. The house had lain quiet, leaving them to as much privacy as they would ever get. He’d lingered at the doorstep, as if he couldn’t tear himself away.

They had been both quite tipsy and she knew she shouldn’t have encouraged his hesitance. At any other time she wouldn’t have bent to such fickle feelings - but she hadn’t wanted him to leave and the champagne had weakened her resistance.

He’d needed only the slightest encouragement and she’d been in his arms. Their kiss had been hot and delicious, everything she’d hoped and she’d clutched at him, wishing to meld into his skin and linger there, on the doorstep between today and tomorrow, for eternity.

“May I?” Jack asked, tearing her from her memories. She realised that she was still standing in front him lost in thought, the inspector watching her with a faintly bemused look. Embarassed she handed him the glass. While he took the first sip of the bitter liquid, she grasped the chance of watching him quietly. His shirt was now fully buttoned, the wool of his trousers, if somewhat crumpled, again covering his legs. He looked almost back to his normal self, the evidence of last night dissolving in the morning light and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was what was happening. Would they just… forget?

Her stomach protested the notion, but what else was there to be done? Countless nights had she lain awake, wondering if she’d be willing to make the final step towards Jack, to give up her precious freedom and bind herself to a single man. It had never occurred to her that he might not want to be bound.

She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drained the last of the water, pulled a grimace at the taste.

“Better?” she asked gently, as she released him from the glass.

“Thank you,” he replied quietly. Their fingers brushed, shooting warmth along her arm. A lock of hair had fallen into his eyes, which now were soft and tender, almost like he’d looked last night as he’d unwrapped her like a priceless Christmas present. Before she knew it, she’d reached out to stroke the lock from his forehead. His lashes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments on the contact and her heart skipped a beat.

“Are you certain about breakfast?” she breathed, her fingertips still lingering. His eyes darkened with longing, waking more slumbering emotions in her chest. She did not want him to go.

“There might be time for a slice of toast, Miss Fisher,” he said, the tiniest of smiled tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Phryne smiled.

“I believe Jane requested drop scones. You wouldn’t want to miss those.”

He gently removed his hand from his face, holding on to it a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

“Drop scones? For breakfast?” he asked.

Despite her smile Phryne could feel her heart beat in her throat.

“I choose not to argue taste, Jack. Especially when it comes to drop scones.”

His eyes were still glued to her, asking all the question he would never speak aloud. After a while he seemed to have found sufficient answers and his features softened.

“In that case, Miss Fisher, I believe duty can wait.”


	12. Ending 11.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after a break for Con and Life with a double-feature. The prompts were from TandBanjo and my lovely husband. Thanks goes to Allison_Wonderland for helping me get back on track. Enjoy.

Ending 11 - Part 1

 

His eyes were glued to Miss Fisher, but hers were looking right past him. Jack turned his head and almost screamed. A pair of huge dark eyes stared at him from a face that belonged to some kind of strange… animal? The head had about the shape of an egg and seemed to glimmer in the bright light like an oversized emerald.

“Where on earth are we…?” Phryne breathed behind him.

Jack sat up on the edge of what reminded him more of a table than a bed.

“I wouldn’t have an idea, Miss Fisher.”

“Esoihfeoiug,” the creature made, then, before the inspector had a chance to react, the green thing raised a pistol, pressed it against his arm and pulled the trigger. Jack screamed, then closed his mouth when he realised that aside from a brief pain, like the prick of a needle, nothing had happened. He grasped for his arm, finding no blood nor gaping wound.

The pistol flew up again, aiming for Phryne, but this time Jack was prepared and grasped for the tiny green hand. It also looked like crystal, but was surprisingly warm and soft, rather more like this new gelatine dessert Mr B had served after dinner a couple weeks ago.

“Please let go now,” the creature said. Jack gaped at him, his hand slipping off the tiny wrist.

“Ouch,” Phryne said, but barely blinked.

“Welcome to… XY-Zentaur No 324,” the little green man said, his voice a strange singsong to their ears. The detective’s shared a look.

“What did you say?” Jack asked.

“I said ‘Welcome to… XY-Zentaur No 324’. If you still do not understand me… the implant is faulty.”

He stretched out his arm to prod Jack’s needle wound, but the inspector fought him off valiantly.

“What implant, what are you talking about?”

“We use implant to… make you… understand.”

Phryne rubbed the sore spot on her arm, realisation dawning on her face.

“You don’t speak English, do you?” she said slowly.

“Correct… Miss Fisher.”

Jack was slowly losing his temper.

“Nonsense. Obviously it, he… whatever, does speak English!” He turned to the little green man. “Who are you?! And where on Earth did you bring us? To what end?”

As he yelled it, he jumped to his feet, rushing to a nearby window as if the view could bring him all the answers. He froze, staring out into a great big darkness. A great, blue-green ball seemed to be turning far underneath their feet. The inspector had seen nothing like it.

“Not on Earth,” the small, melodic voice said behind him. “You are…. on XY-Zentaur No 324.”

Jack spun.

“So you say, but what does it mean?!”

Phryne stepped beside him, gently touching his arm as if to calm him. He dimly realised that she was still only wearing a thin nightdress. They must have captured her right from her bed. The anger continued boiling impotently right beneath the surface, but for the moment he decided to sort it away.

“I don’t… understand,” the creature said, looking sad.

“What’s your name?” Miss Fisher asked gently.

The little man made a blubbering noise that sounded vaguely like Blariubob.

“I see,” Phryne said, throwing a look at Jack. He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to be involved in any of this. His head was spinning.

“May I call you Bob?” she asked after a pause.

“You may call me… whatever you like,” the little man said.

“Right, Bob, why don’t we sit down and you tell us the story from the beginning,” Miss Fisher asked, grasping Jack by the arm and pulling him back towards the table in the middle of the room. He barely struggled, but sat on the edge like an obstinate child. Phryne rolled her eyes at him.

“Now, why did you… invite us here?” Miss Fisher asked, when the little man had settled on something looking like a large metal ball.

“Or rather capture us,” Jack mumbled underneath his breath. She ignored him.

“We need… your help,” Bob explained. “You are… great detectives. We are in need of… great detectives.”

“Murder?” Miss Fisher asked, obviously flattered.

Bob’s face fell.

“No murder!” he said, his little voice agitated. “We would not kill… each other.”

“Oh, good,” Jack muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “They are peaceful green monsters.”

“We are… very peaceful… Inspector Robinson. But it is… a delicate matter. I shall fetch my superior… to explain.”

With that he turned in a complicated gesture and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jack was on his feet, inspecting it.

“What are you doing, Jack?” Phryne asked, a smile colouring her voice.

“I’m looking for a way out of here, Miss Fisher.”

In vain, the door was a smooth as glass. There wasn’t even a gap where it had closed.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why?!” He turned in exasperation. “Do you seriously have to ask, Miss Fisher? Those… things have abducted us and God knows what they want.”

“We could at least see what case they have for us?”

Phryne simpered, her head tilted, gently smoothing his jacket. Jack felt his panic again ebb underneath her touch. It didn’t help that her nightdress really did not hide very much of her figure.

“How can you be so calm, Miss Fisher?” he asked. She shrugged.

“Have you never dreamed of traveling space, Jack? Of meeting an other-wordly creature?”

He gently but firmly peeled her hands from himself, held them between his for a moment. Despite his suit he was freezing and her warmth, he currently feared, might be the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“Aliens, Miss Fisher?”

“What else could they be?”

“There is no such thing as Aliens!”

‘Which means, I am going mad’, is what he didn’t say. Miss Fisher took a deep breath, the small smile playing around her lips that he knew from the plentiful moments when he was stretching her patients.

“I know you are a sensible man,” she said gently, as if she needed to calm him. He was calm, thank you very much. Maybe a little insane, but very definitely calm. “And also a man of evidence. Right now, the evidence is literally staring you in the face.”

He turned to where she was indicating and indeed, Bob had returned with another creature, this one a lighter shade of green and a touch taller.

“Greetings… Miss Fisher,” the newcomer said. “I am… Ablubeeetonius.” His eyes slipped to the inspector, hesitated, then a heated discussion broke out between the two aliens, completely indistinguishable for the listeners.

“I apologize… Miss Fisher,” Ablubeeetonius said after about half a minute had passed. “I did not know… that someone else was going… to be here.”

Again Bob seemed to whisper something hastily.

“But Blariubob tells me… the Inspector is necessary for your work. So I will… accept him...”

“Too kind,” Jack said between gritted teeth.

“Inspector Robinson is a very talented detective in his own right,” Miss Fisher said.

“I am sure… he is,” the creature said politely, while eyeing Jack with disdain. “But he is of… how do you say… male gender. We do not have… male gender. We do not know… how they work.”

The detectives shared an astonished look.

“You mean you are all women?” Jack asked, his nose crinkling in thought.

“Only one… kind,” Bob said, who had until now been quiet. “We all… reproduce.”

Jack opened his mouth, trying to explain that men did in fact reproduce, but a single look at Phryne, who appeared to be close to bursting into laughter, taught him differently.

“It was very hard… to find female… detective,” Ablubeeetonius said. “Many males.”

Miss Fisher sighed theatrically.

“Tell me about it.”

Jack gave her a stern look.

“About this case…?” he prompted. After another suspicious glance, the taller alien led them out of the room and down a tall corridor, looking out into space. Jack felt dizzy as he stared out into the black nothingness. Surely it couldn’t be real. But it felt very much so.

“You are… worried?” Bob asked. He flinched. He hadn’t realised she’d followed.

“It is all very new,” he said vaguely.

“Do not… fear. You have… her affection.”

Jack gaped at her, but in the same moment Phryne turned, gesturing to him to follow behind the superior, who had already entered another room. Jack wouldn’t be rushed. He had noted the gooseflesh spreading over Miss Fisher’s shoulders and peeled the coat from himself to wrap her in it. She smiled lopsidedly.

“I guess there is some upsides to men,” she said.

“Is that so, Miss Fisher?”

“Most definitely.”

“Come… the Queen will see… you now,” Bob said, ushering them on. They entered a round room filled with chattering creatures. Nobody took notice of the intruders. There must have been over 30 of them, the inspector mused quietly, every one a different shape and shade of green. Their guide approached a small, turquoise coloured alien. There was nothing particularly special about her appearance, but Jack noticed a strange pattern of movement around her, as if people were drawn close without daring to crowd her. Then she turned to look at him, big grey eyes zeroed in on him and he almost recoiled, feeling as if his very soul was being inspected. Then the Queen nodded and if as by magic the crowd fell silent.

“I would… like to... speak...to our guests,” she said. “Alone,” she added, her eyes still glued to his.

Jack didn’t move, he stood like a rock within the mass of moving green bodies as the aliens filed out of the room. Ablubeeetonius was whispering with the Queen, but was dismissed with the rest.

Suddenly silence fell. They were alone. Jack felt Phryne’s hand on his arm and obediently followed her to the middle of the room where the Queen sat on a large metallic gleaming sphere, which seemed to be floating in the air. Another two of them swept close. The Queen indicated them to be seated. Miss Fisher was already climbing onto one while Jack still eyed another suspiciously. He finally attempted to sit. It was odd, bouncy, like a very soft sofa.

“Welcome to XY-Zentaur No 324, Miss Fisher, Inspector.”

The Queen nodded.

Her voice had lost the strange rhythm and Jack had the sudden suspicion that she wasn’t speaking in some strange alien language any longer.

“I apologize for interrupting your day, but as my friends have already told you there is something of great urgency I wish to consult with you about.”

“They were not overly forthcoming with details,” Phryne pointed out, crossing her legs. Jack glanced at her. Even here, literally in alien territory, dressed in nothing but a nightgown and his jacket, Miss Fisher looked fully in control of the situation. Something like pride crept into his admiration.

“They do not know any details,” the Queen explained calmly. “It is not only an urgent, but also a delicate matter.”

“Right,” Jack said. “Can we know what we are working on or is it equally too delicate for us?”

Again she seemed to penetrate him with her eyes.

“You are skeptical, Inspector, but I promise you, you are not dreaming nor going insane,” she said. Jack stared at her and gulped. From Phryne’s direction he made out something like a suppressed snicker.

“If you will follow me, I shall show you,” the Queen explained, already on her feet. The detectives did as told and stepped through a narrow door into a much smaller room. In the middle, atop a smaller sphere floated something that looked incredibly expensive, in a complicated sort of way. Miss Fisher stepped around in, staring in awe at the mess of what looked like gold and precious stones, apparently thrown together by a blind toddler with a lack of any sort of taste.

“Is it real?” she asked, her eyes glittering along with diamonds the size of fists. She gently stretched out a finger and touched the gold.

“Very much so, Miss Fisher,” the Queen answered. “This, lets call it container, for lack of a better word in your language, holds the crown jewels of the Nafari Clan of Antoxis III.”

“Container?” Jack asked, at the same time as Phryne tore her eyes from the glittering metal to stare at their hostess.

Instead of an answer the Queen stepped forward and pressed a large ruby on the side. With a quiet swiiish sound the item parted, showing absolutely nothing.

“I don’t see them,” Miss Fisher stated.

“Exactly,” the Queen said.

Jack understood first.

“Your crown jewels are missing?” he asked.

“Indeed they are.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair.

“Any suspects?” he asked.

“Oh, I know who it was,” the Queen said to their surprise.

“But?”

“The crown jewels are incredibly important to our clan...” She made a vague gesture in the air.

“Nobody can know that they’re missing?” Phryne asked.

“It would lead to chaos,” the Queen explained. “I wish to retrieve them without too much attention.”

“And two human detectives poking around in your business is not going to draw attention?” Jack asked.

The Queen grinned.

“Earthlings do not worry the Nafari,” she explained. “Legend says that my mother’s mother’s mother’s mother was the first to ever meet a human. Since then we have invited many onto our ships.”

“’Invite’ as in take from their beds and sofas without their knowledge?” Jack asked grumpily.

“Invite,” the Queen agreed.

Phryne grinned and rolled her eyes at the inspector.

“So? How do we find those crown jewels?” she asked.

Half an hour later, or so Jack guessed since his watch had stopped working, they were wandering down a corridor. With a sense of longing he glanced at the blue-green ball outside the window. If this was indeed where they lived, he wanted to go back there and soon, return to his sofa beside the dying fire where he had nodded off reading Wilde; or to Phryne’s parlour, with a good glass of whiskey; or even the station for all he cared. Everything seemed better right now than the cold creeping through this corridors and the endless black sucking at his soul.

“Homesick, Jack?” Phryne asked beside his ear. He turned his head to glance at her. To his surprise he found no sarcasm in her features.

“Just a little, Miss Fisher.”

“Everything looks so small from here,” she said after a moment. “As if nothing down there matters.”

“And yet, strangely, I am keen to return there,” the inspector said.

“We’ll be home soon,” she said, grasping for his hand. It was warm and soft and suddenly Jack could think of nothing important enough to leave. They wandered down the hallway, past a pair of aliens who curiously eyed them. Jack attempted to withdraw his hand, but Phryne wasn’t having it.

“I find it rather pleasant to be in society which doesn’t jump to suspicions,” she whispered in his direction.

“And naturally they are wrong,” the inspector said between gritted teeth.

Phryne simpered as they stopped.

“Wrong or right, it opens doors that might be closed to us otherwise.”

As she said it, she released his hand and knocked hard against a square of grey metal. There was a pause. Then the door swung open with a soft swiiish. Miss Fisher turned to Jack and grinned. He tilted his head, realising that she was standing entirely too close.

“A point which I find hard to argue.”

Rather than uttering any answer, her eyes slowly slipped down his body. He gulped.

‘I wonder if it is the only thing hard...’

“Pardon me?” Jack stammered.

He retreated, slamming his back painfully into the door frame. It hadn’t been words as such, Phryne’s lips hadn’t moved, he could’ve sworn it. Rather more like…

She cocked her head.

“So, I was right.”

“Right about what, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked, breathlessly trying to sort his thoughts.

“Telepathic connections, Jack. It seems our friends are using them. And I assume it extended to us through the.. translating device.”

Jack’s head was spinning. Dear God, if Miss Fisher could read his mind, God alone knew what she would make of it. Or… anyone, if she was right. There was a pause.

“I cannot hear a thing,” he stated carefully. Phryne grinned.

“I suspect it filters out the usual noise,” she said, “a thought needs to be particularly strong to transmit.”

Jack felt a blush spread up from his neckline.

“That is utter nonsense,” he brought out, gesturing through the open door. “After you.”

It was a fairly small room and to Jack’s relief he noted that there were no windows.

“So you didn’t hear a thing just then, Jack?” Phryne smiled, beginning to inspect a large chest in the middle of the room.

“Telepathy is an old wife’s tale,” the inspector insisted rather than answer her question, crouching to have a closer look at one of the hovering balls. Nothing seemed to tether them to the floor underneath and he carefully stretched out a hand to touch it. It felt disappointingly like thin air.

“Like otherworldly creatures?” Phryne asked from underneath the bed.

“Exactly,” Jack answered grumpily.

“And yet here we are on one of their vessels.”

“Or quite possibly I am in a mental institution, suffering a break-down,” Jack said under his breath. He was quickly running out of patience with this whole thing.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Jack.”

The inspector didn’t answer. Pulling himself to his feet, he spun, scanning the room for any hiding places. He just wanted to get this done and out of here, before he had to completely abandon any idea of sanity. But the result was sobering. The sparse furniture seemed not intended for storage.

“Any luck, Miss Fisher?”

“None,” her voice sounded from underneath what could be described as a table though for some reason or another it held nothing but a flat bowl filled with silver liquid.

“It might also help if the Queen had given us some indication what we are looking for,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. She indeed hadn’t been entirely helpful in that regard. ‘You will know it when you find it’ had been her vague answer to his burning question.

“Whatever it is, it isn’t here,” Miss Fisher explained happily, joining him. She seemed to enjoy this whole ordeal entirely too much. Jack sighed.

“Even if the Queen is correct about the identity of the culprit, her sleeping quarters don’t seem the ideal hiding place.”

Miss Fisher pulled herself to her feet and brushed off her nightdress. She had to be cold, it dimly occurred to him, staring at her naked feet.

“It does seem rather obvious,” she said lightly. “But then, the Nafari seem to be less skilled in crime than humans.”

“If you ask me, it could be anywhere on this… vessel,” Jack pointed out. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Which means we might be stuck here forever,’ he added grimly in his head.

Miss Fisher shrugged and simpered.

“And would that be so horrible, being stuck here, with me?” she asked, tilting her head.

“And a few thousand green creatures, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, leaning against the wall. It was cool and stable against his body, calming his inner turmoil.

At least briefly. Suddenly the earth seemed to move, Jack gave a small shriek, then darkness surrounded him.

Muffled laughter tore him from his terror to look at the open gap where just a moment ago had been a wall. Into the frame of light stepped Miss Fisher, still grinning from ear to ear.

“It appears you found a hidden door, Jack,” she said. The inspector was too embarrassed to answer, but grasped for her offered hand to pull himself upright. He rubbed the throbbing wrist which had caught his fall.

“Now if there was any light we might be able to fi...” he trailed off as blinding light flared.

“Your wish is their command, it appears.”

“Could be a trap,” he said, grumpily, but turned to have a look around all the same.

“What reason would they have to trap us?” Phryne said while feeling one of a number boxes hanging from the wall for an opening. “We have very little power over our fate as long as we are on their ship.”

“A calming thought, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, testing the walls for any more hidden passageways. When he turned, he found the lady-detectives attacking a tiny hole with her hairpin.

“I have my doubts that your skills are of much use here,” he pointed out, stepping behind her. Just as he did, the box clicked, and swung apart. She gave him a look telling clearly what she thought of his doubts, when she noted that he was staring past her, his jaw open. Before them, in a glowing ring of light floated a small cylinder of glass. Carefully Phryne reached out her hand.

“I believe we have found the crown jewels,” she whispered as her finger closed around the item and to Jack’s surprise, pulled it free from the glow. Outside it’s box the item looked like a simple glass vial as he had seen a hundred times in Mac’s laboratory, a tiny amount of thick liquid sticking to the bottom.

“It almost looks like...” he murmured, forgetting for a moment just how close Miss Fisher was standing. She had already uncorked the vial before he could finish the sentence. With baited breath he waited for her verdict as he watched her sniff.

“It is.”

They shared a stunned look, just as an enraged voice interrupted them.

“Please… explain… what you are doing in… my quarters?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	13. Ending 11 - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The continuation, still with prompts from Tandbanjo and my husband. Also thanks to Geenee27 for her quick beta. Enjoy!

 

The detectives spun. In the - for lack of a better word - doorway, stood Ablubeeetonius, having gained a slight shade of violet and a stare which could have killed. Miss Fisher was the first to find to find her voice.

“Oh, we were only having a look around. This,” he indicated the small item in her hand, “is a particularly fascinating piece.”

The violet darkened further.

“You are… lying!”

“Whatever happened to their non-suspicious nature?” Jack murmured under his breath.

“I suspect our friend here has shed the peaceful mindset some time ago,” Phryne said quietly between her teeth without dropping her smile.

“You are… trying to… steal… our family jewels.”

“You know better than that.” Phryne’s voice had lost her forced politeness and was now clear and sharp like a cold winter morning. “You know why we are here.”

The alien moved closer, rage appearing to move like violet waves through the whole green body. It was a sight to behold and Jack swallowed hard.

“The Queen sent us to find her jewels,” he said, nevertheless, raising his chin in order to hide his growing urge to run for cover. “Which you have stolen, Miss…,” he noted his mistake too late, “...Applebluetonik,” he finished weakly. For a moment the huge, dark eyes borrowed into him, then their attention shifted towards Miss Fisher, who still held the vial between gloved fingers.

“You will… give..it to me,” the alien said slowly, tilting her head as if in thought.

“I really don’t think so,” Miss Fisher said.

The alien tilted her head as if she’d never heard a ‘no’ before in her life.

 

“You will...give... it to me,” she said again.

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” Phryne said conversationally, raising the vial to her eyes. “What were you planning to do with it?”

‘Hide it. Hide it. Hide it.’

It wasn’t more than a faint echo in his head than anything audible, but the Inspector caught it all the same.

“For what reason?” he asked. “To weaken the Queen’s power?”

“Give... it to me...” Ablubeeetonius said stubbornly, sounding increasingly less certain of her demand.

“I suppose it could be about power,” said Miss Fisher, ignoring her, as she again inspected the thick liquid in the bottom of the vial. “Or something much more vital.”

Jack felt Phryne’s thoughts but he squeezed his brain shut, trying to blend them out. He couldn’t deal with _this_ of all things right now. 

“Females, reproducing without a male,” he said quietly, running a hand across his suddenly hot face. 

“Or not quite without...” Phryne said. Their eyes met, Jack wasn’t entirely sure any more if they had said anything at all. He never did in those moments. Her eyes were as blue as the sea and he had to physically hold himself back from touching her face. 

“You will… give... it to me.”

T he voice tore him from the moment and he turned and blanched.  Ablubeeetonius’  hand was raised in a threatening gesture, holding something that didn’t resemble anything he’d ever seen. Yet he knew exactly what it was. 

“I will… shoot,” Ablubeeetonius said, sounding not entirely sure of herself. 

“What in earth’ name is that?” Phryne asked.

“Whatever it is, I don’t think approaching it is a great idea, Miss Fisher,” the Inspector whispered, sensing her rising curiosity. She took a careful step forward, raised the free hand as if to touch the shiny globe in the alien’s hand.

“I have… warned...”

‘Phryne, don’t!’ Jack’s brain screamed. To his equal surprise and relief Miss Fisher halted, let her arm sink. Jack grasped mindlessly for something to hold onto and sucked a deep breath into his lungs. He felt faint.

‘You are being overly dramatic, Jack’, Phryne’s voice echoed through him.

‘Because I don’t wish you to die?’

She didn’t answer, but a small wave of smugness washed over from her direction.

“Give me… the jewels...” Ablubeeetonius demanded, the oval in her hand still aimed vaguely in Miss Fisher’s direction.

Phryne smiled. Jack sighed inwardly. He knew that look all too well.

“Before I do that, I’d like you to answer a question,” Miss Fisher said sweetly.

“I do not… answer... questions.”

The alien was blankly ignored as Miss Fisher raised the vial towards her eyes and scanned again the inside with the curiosity of a scientist.

“Tell me, what exactly is this used for?” she asked casually. Jack felt a faint blush begin at his neckline, blooming upwards.

“It… is the holiest artifact… of my… clan.”

“I gathered as much.”

To Jack’s growing discomfort, Miss Fisher uncorked the vial and sniffed it. The knowing smile broadened, as did the rosy colouring of his cheeks. Ablubeeetonius stared at her, the weapon in her hand shaking now.

“It is… used for reproduction,... Miss Fisher,” a deeper melodic voice sad.

Jack’s eyes flew up to look at Queen, but he didn’t get a chance to voice his surprise, as a green light flashed and then the sound of splintering glass seemed to fill the entire room.

“Oh...no...” Ablubeeetonius said, staring aghast at the discharged weapon in her hand. Then she burst into tears. Inspector Jack Robinson had seen his fair share of oddities, but a turquoise alien shedding big silver tears was definitely a first. The Queen stepped behind the sobbing girl and carefully laid a green hand on her shoulder.

“It does… not matter,” she said gently, taking the strange weapon from unresistant hands. “You couldn’t hide… it forever.”

For some reason that made Ablubeeetonius only cry harder. Phryne had knelt down beside what was left-over of the crown jewels and was inspecting the sticky shards of glass.

“I’m… sorry, mother.”

“Mother?” Jack echoed, seeking Phryne’s eyes, who looked equally surprised.

“Allow… me to… explain,” the Queen said.

“I can’t wait to hear _th_ _is_ ,” Jack snapped. A headache was beginning to pound behind his temples and his patience with this whole situation running out.

“Jack.”

A soft hand touched him, fingers slipping between his, interlinking them. Jack swallowed hard. There was something to be said for a lack of rules. Even if it was just part of his sudden insanity.

“Fine,” he sighed, allowing their host to lead them out into the bigger room. Ablubeeetonius left with a last, lost look at the detectives. The Queen indicated at the floating balls and gestured for them to sit. Jack chose to lean against a comfortingly solid wall instead. He did regret, however, Phryne’s warm skin slipping away. After they’d settled, the Queen aimed calm eyes at both of them in turn.

“I feel I owe you an explanation,” she said quietly, again dropping the strange sing-song.

“I believe so.” Miss Fisher’s smile hid the sharp edge of something unspoken.

“I did tell you that I suspect Ablubeeetonius to be the culprit,” the Queen said after a pause.

“You forgot to mention that she is your daughter,” Jack threw in.

There was something like a complicated shrug of aquamarine shoulders.

“She is young. I can forgive her for believing that hiding the truth is the only way.”

“The truth of what the family jewels contain?” Miss Fisher asked.

The Queen shook her head.

“You are detectives. You will have noticed that the vial was almost empty.”

Jack nodded. He _had_ noticed.

“You have no way to reproduce?” Phryne whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

“Our clan is dying, Miss Fisher. We are going extinct.”

For a long moment it was silent in the small room. Echoes of thoughts rippled through Jack’s mind. He wasn’t entirely certain if they were Phryne’s or the Queens or his own. Maybe just a passing alien outside in the corridors.

“And now that the vial has broken...” he said finally, slowly, cold seeping into his bones.

“The process will be accelerated,” the Queen said calmly. “I have long ago resigned myself to the facts, Inspector.” Suddenly, a hint of emotion flickered through her huge eyes. “But I had not expected the end to come quite so soon.”

“Is there…,” he cleared his throat. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

The Queen seemed to shrink in her seat.

“Of course, I have tried to refill the vial, but nobody knows what the substance is made from. It is not found anywhere on our planet.” She looked up. “I will be honest with you, I hoped you could help.”

“Us?” Jack echoed, shocked. In his thoughts, Phryne giggled. He ran a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to brush her away.

“Legend says that the substance in the vial was a gift to my mother’s-mother’s-mother’s-mother from an earthling,” the alien explained, unfazed by his discomfort. “I admit I brought you here not only to find the secret hiding place of my daughter. I was harboring the slightest of hopes that you may be able to help me find a replacement.”

The last was too much for Miss Fisher. She burst out laughing. The Queen stared at her, equal amounts confusion and consternation, while Jack’s blush reached his hairline.

“I don’t find this funny, Miss Fisher,” he said sternly.

Phryne caught herself, though her smirk continued to betray her.

“Would you please leave us alone for a moment,” she begged of the still confused Queen. “We need to… forge a plan,” she added after a moment, with a glance at Jack. He wanted to sink into the ground, but he remained stoic, his arms folded over his chest until the door closed behind the alien and Miss Fisher stepped in front of him, running her fingers down his shirt.

“You _can’t_ be serious,” he said, before she could voice the thought very clearly floating through her brain.

“Oh come on, Jack, you cannot possibly deny them. You are their only hope.” She grinned, leaning in and whispering something into his ear that let the protest die on his lips: “And I could help.”

Jack tried to withdraw further into the wall.

“Absolutely not!” He closed his eyes, tried to shut out both her perfume and the pictures still flooding his brain, if thought by her or him was now indistinguishable. “If I do this, I will do it discretely and alone, Miss Fisher.”

“As you wish,” Phryne grinned from underneath her lashes, retreating with a last brush over the warm linen. “Spoilsport.”

Jack had a suspicion that he had just lost the argument, somehow, but nevertheless he pulled himself upright and straightened his shoulders.

“I will need some sort of receptacle ,” he said, after clearing his throat.

“I’m sure I can rustle up something,” Phryne smirked on the way to the door. She stopped, threw a last leer over her shoulder, “while you prepare yourself.”

“Goodbye, Miss Fisher,” Jack said with a grim smile. Then he was alone. Hastily he wiped the sweat from his brow and loosened his tie. Surely he couldn’t. But then, he had no choice. Countless lives were in his hands. ‘Literally’, Phryne’s voice echoed through his mind. He rolled his eyes at her, not caring if she couldn’t see.

Then he sat onto one of the balls, unsure what to do. It bounced gently underneath his weight while he undid his cuff links. There was very little he _could_ do until Miss Fisher returned. He blushed at the thought that she might walk in on him, but then, certain parts of his anatomy didn’t seem too bothered by the idea. Very far from it. The images flooding his mind appeared to be his alone, he recognized them from other nights where he’d lain half asleep, half awake, aching for relief, but unwilling to spoil the moments by seeking it. Despite that he was surprised that Miss Fisher didn’t comment. Maybe the thought transfer only worked a certain distance, he mused idly. He was in the middle of a particular intense fantasy involving Phryne’s lipstick on his skin, when the door slipped open without a sound. Nevertheless Jack sensed her presence. She was poking around in his mind again and he attempted to shut down his thoughts quickly, but he was too late.

“You are certain you don’t want any help, Jack?” Phryne purred, running her fingers through his hair. Jack’s eyes slipped close, temptation rushing through his blood. He balled his hands into fists.

“Absolutely,” he heard himself say.

Phryne sighed.

“As you wish.”

He felt the loss of her fingers, leaving a burning trail on his neck as she slipped away, pointedly setting a glass vial, similar to the last, onto the table.

“Enjoy,” she said softly as she walked past him to the door.

“Hardly,” Jack bit out between gritted teeth. If she had heard him, she didn’t bother to answer.

The Inspector sat a long minute without moving at all. Then he sighed and unbuttoned his trousers. Cool air crept through the thick fabric, making him shiver and for a moment he regretted having refused her warm hands. One picture bled into another and another and before he had caught himself he was already panting, quicker and closer to the edge than he’d ever dreamed of coming under those strange circumstances. And then suddenly there she was, in his thoughts, twisting his fantasies into a new direction, her hands, her lips on him. There was no escape. She was here, right underneath his skin, and he was too weak, too caught up in the moment to resist. Before long he’d reached his climax and just in time remembered the glass vial. While he sat, spent, storing a rather soiled handkerchief away, Phryne entered.

“It seems our friends will have a long and happy life,” Miss Fisher grinned, accepting the vial from his sticky fingers.

“That was not our agreement,” the Inspector murmured.

“There was nothing I could do, Jack. You were transmitting in vivid colours. A lady can only take so much,” Phryne whispered before their conversation was interrupted. The Queen paled as she stepped closer.

“How did you…?”

“That will remain our professional secret,” Miss Fisher said quickly.

“How can I ever repay you?” the Queen asked, sounding close to tears. “Anything at all.”

“I believe the Inspector would be quite happy if you could drop us back home. Gently,” Phryne added with a look at Jack.

“Of course, immediately.”

And with a snap of green fingers the alien ship dissolved into nothingness.

In his favourite armchair, right beside the now cold fireplace, Jack Robinson sighed in his sleep. In a few hours he would wake with a stiff neck and the firm conviction that he had dreamed the whole encounter – which, of course, he hadn’t - but for the moment he was smiling in his slumber, thinking of many little aliens, looking just a tiny bit like him and of a great green-blue ball called home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few prompts left, but if you have any more ideas, please share them in the comment section. Thanks!


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